Ice Age

Another winter passes.
Spring begins to bloom.
Life for others starts anew-
but not for me.

No matter how I will my mind
to follow in spring's rebirth,
it remains in hibernation,
a constant winter of memory.

How can I, Mother Earth,
enjoy your beauty,
when Father Time
will not heal my wounds?

Every joyous bird song
sounds a melancholy harmony
and all the newly bloomed flowers'
delicious perfume smell bitter
to my downtrodden soul.

The sun's warmth
does naught to melt
the icicles
hanging from my spirit.

The springtime of my happiness was ended
when your glacier of cruelty
covered the landscape of my life.

I succumb to the
absolute zero
of this emptiness.

No amount of love's fire
can save me now.