Poetry / Thoughts of Winter's Death

Dim aspens whisper in the fitful night
As wind twists through their branches, like the hands
Of some old, meddling god, who keeps the whole
Of his creation bound by wicked stars.
The fierce wind flings dark clouds across the sky
And brings a chill that settles in my bones.

I see the branches nearly bare, the bones
Of earth grown cold and dead in winter’s night
And ghostly shells of leaves against the sky
Withered and dry like old skeletal hands
Yet striving, each alone, to block the whole,
To hide the light of any hopeful stars.

I shiver underneath the icy stars
And feel a terror gnawing at my bones,
A fear that darkness will not leave me whole
Will scatter shards of me through endless night
And brush leftover dust from frozen hands
While laughing soundlessly against the sky.

The darkness of a vast and empty sky
Is broken only by the distant stars.
I long to warm my cold and trembling hands,
Banish the chill sunk deep into my bones;
I yearn to find a place to rest the night
And dream of those I love, who make me whole.

This dark, it seems, has somehow claimed the whole
Of earth, as it descended from the sky,
Hiding every path in veils of night.
Despite the glow that comes from faint cold stars
I cannot tell if trees or giant bones
Surround me, within reach of outstretched hands.

Flakes of snow fall; I catch them in my hands
To watch them melt, and think of how the whole
Snowfall will melt away from standing bones,
Releasing trees to reach toward the sky
With leaves that hide all but the boldest stars
Yet hold a brightness hanging in the night.

These thoughts defeat the night, and take my hand
Leading me with stars that light the whole
Of midnight skies, and cold but harmless bones.

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