Poems for the Brave

It's Cold Again

It's cold again.
I feel winter wrap her long fingers around my throat;
Numb fingers. Numb toes.
Around me drifts bright white snow,
Blinding in the coming dusk.
The sun sets and it's ethereal above the frozen landscape;
Sparkling village.
An undiscovered clarity of light pierces the hanging icicles,
And splits into a dozen prisms,
Chasms of beauty;
Like starlight on the ground, spilled like embers all around. 
Light, light, light.
Captures the snow dusted hilltops,
All the sky's glorious pinks, indigos - beryl blues
Lucid yellows, tinted silver, lilac and orange too.
All illuminated by the sun's final light,
As the snow dusted treetops twinkle goodnight.
Darkness falls, and the halls brim with lemon-gold light.
The trees are blackened silhouettes,
Monsters roam in the shadows albeit the snow still sparkles where there's starlight.
Haunting choral melodies rise from the churches.
We avoid the bitter night by staying indoors.
The tawny furred mice curl up in their tiny homes of hay.
And above us, through the stars, rides a red man in his golden sleigh.