The Dead of Winter

It was the dead of winter and

In the quiet of the night we said “Hello.”

I’ve spent ten years writing words,

Streaks of everlasting color

Tracing fingers on the walls I’ve built within.

Well it’s been Hell and I’ve no others to begin.

So, keep my windows shut,

For the breeze is blowing in

And I cannot begin

To tell the others of Hell that is Alone.

Streaks of everlasting color

Dried and cracked and sprained from within.

Walls of fingers tracing passages untouched

Ten years of words built up and lost

In the quiet night we said “Hello.”

Simple words in the dead of winter,

Snow falling at our passing

Melting away with the days we once had.