Would that the mud heralded spring!
The icy stone that sits within my breat
formerly, a heart
It needs not chill winds and icy rains
It needs not sunless skies and deepest nights
November will not save a dying soul from it's own wanderings
May will
Warm May rains and warm may winds
Nights of sun far into the evening
like the earth it melts, it melts
The cold chilled heart, of
A loveless fool who traded joy for belief in love
who changed herself and lost love for love
Whose soul lost purpose and so lost faith
in others
in worlds
in savior, imaginary ones who'd save her
heroes with wounded hearts of their own
They are not real
The few there are want happy souls
spirits of tender, healing balm
Not I.
For in my want for them, i have lost them
My soul bears no balm for itself, let alone the souls of others
And I may plan a death of chill
for the winter may be much too long to bear