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By Tenley Crawford
Tired and weak,
I lay upon this barren land. Unable to stand, unable to speak.
White falls on and around me,
From what used to be lovely and green.
How could I have foreseen that you wanted to be free?
I rake my mind for a clue,
Of something I could’ve done.
But I am only one in the absence of you.
I feel my energy leave,
Seeping into the flakes around me.
With every dropping degree I am no longer naive.
For what is love but the peak of happiness, And the crippling depths of numbness?
A fever and frostbite of the soul.
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