Coldness
The cold to me is like a dream, a gift
of life that lights my time, yet love of cold-
the scorn of warmth, is pain beneath a thrift
of gold. For me to love is me behold
If I to search, to hunt the frost, shall I
begin to hate all life? The life so warm
yet I so cold, that soon all things apply
a burn. It haunts, hallows my skin to form
And when I reach for friend, I find they fall to floor
in due to I, for love not knows of past
the pain, and thus I cry for loss, implore
You all to find the love in light to last
If I to grow into the dark, then I
shall lose what's left to love, and cold is I
