Frostbite of the Soul

By Tenley Crawford

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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.