The Snow (Mirror of Self)

Who will help me carry the lead of the years?

Long gone are the friends of Summer,

And the Autumn disperses its veil of rain.

Winter winds round wilderness and city.

Snow stretched, spread thin (Winter’s got

Nothing to spare, you see) glistens chrome

Gray on my windowsill in the Winter-frost

Sun. And I am as the snow, stretched incredibly

To cover all the bases, to leave nothing bare.

It hurts. To be everywhere, nowhere at home.

In fantasy, in reality or in-between - I am stretched,

You see, and it hurts, for I am many and none.

I carry my years on my back; they’re treasure I

Cannot part with. Oh, no, they’re not gold nor

Ruby nor emerald nor sapphire nor diamond nor

Silver. Leaden are my years, but I recognize myself

In them; sometimes I wish to pull myself from within

The devouring maw of the past and sit myself in front

Of myself and talk. That’s all one needs, after all; to talk.

To be talked to. To listen. To be seen. To be loved. And,

Beyond all, to love. To have someone to love. I think of

This every winter, every snow. I think it won’t snow next

Year; don’t you see how thinly spread it is this year? Surely,

Winter spent its rations, and next Winter will be snow-less.

I think.

I hope.