I feel a terminal cold,
I am winter.
My fingers, long sharp icicles extending from frozen arms,
No longer sensing the warmth of holding my love close.
Wintry mists obscure my mind in grey,
Days are replaced by crying wind and swirling snow,
My heart the engine that drives me is dead.
I can no longer see,
I can no longer think,
I can no longer feel,
Is this the hibernation of the soul?
A delicate flutter, an ever so slight thump,
Can a heart still beat in this cruel season?
After a long sleep a rebirth of existence.