I’m dying in the snow,
flakes falling all around –
Blackness caressing the night sky,
and the two create a soft diffusing grayness;
Staring up at the swirling,
gentle cold –
letting it creep over me and swallow me.
Deep dreams fill me,
things from the past –
Ancient people I’ve never met,
Dreams of those ages long ago;
knights in shining armor,
ladies on ponies –
and castles in distant lands.
A slap of cold,
startles me –
and I awake to mounds of snow,
fluffy white cold smothering the strength of my bones;
the dreams returning & giving strength,
making blood fire –
waking & driving me to my goal.
wil becker
1996.01.29
