The Cold

Winter always brings the coldest nights,
And this the coldest yet,
Years ago this winter set,
When and how I don't remember,

It moved and crept like a stalking beast,
My heart and soul to be its feast,
It pounced so quick and without warning,
My warmth it stole and froze by morning,

There is no blanket for this chill,
Or a soup that could this void fill,
The longest winter I can remember,
With no end in sight, this bloody december,

No life to be found on this sleepless night,
I travel alone, tired and weary,
Through this snow's white-lit dreary,
I wait to sleep for another eve,

For I may not awake soon enough to see,
The sun that rises beyond the hills afoot,
Time stands frozen as the forest trees,
How much more can one man take?

The miles grow longer and,
The days grow darker,
Perhaps it is time for my journey's end,
No longer my body can my soul defend,

From this wintery landscape,
Cold and beautiful, barren and stark,
And so I chuckle at the cold wind's remark,

"Life's all a winter, till the summer wind blows,
Forget not this as the winter counts your woes,
Tis a season just the same, no matter the length,
Summer's just ahead, but do you have the strength?"

To the wind I replied,
"What strength can I have in this coldest of winter's?
I'm frozen all over down to my very center,
It's unlikely I'll survive this frigid eve of morrow,
The only thing I own is this sack of sorrows"

The wind blew furious, colder than before,
"You think only you carry such a sack?
As though no man carries on his back,
The very same regrets and fears,
That bring you your tears,

Tell me not of the sadness you have wrought,
Or losing battles and conflicts fought,
I've no time to hear you whine,
I'll kill you now amongst these pines,

Just say the word and see it done,
Just lay down now and forget the sun,
The warmth isn't worth it, easier to die,
Nothing worse than seeing a grown man cry"

A response flew fast from my frozen blue lips,
"Be gone with you winter's friend,
I've not time to discuss my end,
I will make it so without your help,
If I'm to die, I'll do it myself"

The night pressed on and I even harder,
As though the wind was my travel's charter,
My horse, my steed, or perhaps twas I driven in the snow?
For the warmth I trek, my sorrows in tow.