It’s snowing, it’s true,
and we’re trapped
between derelict places
and frightening new.
Too long in the cold,
our lives iced
with troubled observation,
and harsh words told.
This path is unknown,
freshly snowed,
silvery newborn with no
black footsteps sewn.
It’s brisk and we’re blue,
harsh weather
splintering our souls open
to what is true.
Though in remembering
our minds chill,
our insides twist unhappily
in their trembling,
the frost is fleeting,
warm raindrops
will icicles soon soften
at Spring’s meeting;
surviving the melt,
we’ll reclaim
all our boundaries, essentials
and things unfelt,
the particles that must
our souls make –
serenity, self-respect,
the strength to trust.
Onwards we’ll advance,
jet skies lit
with stripes of starlit teardrops,
our souls in dance.
starguidemehome 