Longing For The Way Home

Winter conjures ethereal spirit
Hidden in me.
I step outside to the crunching
Under my boots and long lost friends with their rose faces
Beseeching me to drift away
From the catharsis and
The notes of lonliness plinking
Down the descending melody of colorless skies and
The warm breath crystallizing as I exhale.
In this cloud I see the children
Frozen and animated chasing six ounces of vulcanized rubber.
Their voices take what seems like minutes to reach my eager ears
And pour back out as steam with every tiny droplet melting into
A distant association- familiarity I can’t pin to an exact source.
Gone are the ways of snow men with carrot noses
Replacing them are the lumps of coal in harsh contrast
That now, makes up my smile that sticks to my face
Until the sun comes.
Ended are the times of socks covering my hands,
Hands that yearned to mold the barren, blank
Fields of ice into a tangible home for a lone nomadic
Tendancy: shelter.
This shelter resides in my memory; lurking mere inches
From my outstretched hands.
I used to think in my youth that snow was the sky exploding
Into a cascading shower of frozen tears
Ripped from the eyes of forbidden desires.
Now I see those miniscule thoughts compounding into waves
Held in place within the drifts never to reach the sea.
I see expansive regions of people huddling together
Looking for themselves in each other-
Looking for a moment of warmth locked away in blank eyes
And cold bodies.
When I was a child- many winters ago
My blued lips and numbed feet served as the only reminder
Of the mild punishment for my hours of construction.
I felt everything in those hours: loss, gratification.
Redemption, and I feeling of belonging.
I knew who I was.
Everything was to be touched, and everything touched me.
-All happiness I couldn’t pin to an exact source.
But these are the days of post corruption
The days of upholding rigourous levels of sanity
When everybody thinks I am crazy
For enjoying the ice falling softly to the ground.
Winter’s sorrowful melody moves as gracefully as water
And I open my eyes to dazzling blue ones
Beseeching me to drift away
From drifting away into sentiment
So I can find my way home.
I inhale a fresh cache of air, exhaling the stale stale one
And look out as far as I can see.
It’s exhausted.