The Dead Cold

My skin bristles from the frigidness

My hands tremble by my sides

My breath breaks in the wind.

My feet are dead from the snow

My lashes frosted over

My attitude is tepid.

It's hard to see through all the snow

It's hard not to give up

It's hard not to cry.

The nark road cannot be eyed from the fog

The forest is too dense.

I have the loss of breath.

I need to get home before I die

I need to find the way

I need to get warm.

The house is over yonder

I think I can make it

Atlast I am at the door,

But my house has been burned down.