My Winter

Winter

I feel dead,

Like a tree without leaves

And a hollowed core

Withered by the dark frost of winter.

Is this what I am;

Condemned to stand alone

While the seasons of man’s life

Drift away, like dead leaves on the voice of the wind.

Everywhere I see death,

Brought on by winter’s frozen claws.

Is this how it will be;

Living things trapped beneath the steel hand of death?

I feel death;

And I hear the decay of life

Whispering, softly,

The silent, cold voice of winter.