In this field of dying poppies
Covered in white.
A sky of gray tells me no lies.
Winter plays her best hand
As I succomb to frosted dreams
Through blue "windows,"
Or so the analogy goes.
Inside the frosted glass,
Chaos plays with Shame's lonely child
Like white flurries
That dance together, then vanish.
And tears turn to snowflakes
As they fall, covering the ground.
Silky, soft shrouds
Settling over the fallen.
My eyes slowly open
To the same desolation -
Written in white,
A secret for the world to see.
Cold grips our hearts with ice,
Our eyes are frosted window panes
All turned inward -
Bound children who refuse to see.
But. . .
There is a horizon
Whose edge becomes brighter each day.
There, Hope dances.
With compassion, He calls to us:
"For the soul who holds on,
Summer is coming, dear children.
I am coming -
Warm Love runs barefoot to meet you."