In bleak and driving chills
of goosebumps raised upon my heart,
that icy tone that you intone
unmakes the walls
and sets the stones
of ice within my hearth.

To find my way,
the black upon the grey,
seems harder than intent,
that need to vent
denied.

The shadow beast unleashed
by scorn devours
the hours
as minutes,
leaving days and acres
stretching out
'cross Winter's pale expanse,
my thoughts and dreams
but skeletal reminders
of the trees.

It's then, when buffeted
and scalded by cold's bite,
I find that cave within chagrin
and lock myself away.
A spark of self indulgent wit
becomes determined lines
defining what I want to be,
a burgeoning,
aspiring flame
is poetry, the freedom
wrought in me.

And suddenly the blankets
wrap around
my ailing form,
the cave illuminated is a haven
from the storm,
and words are my salvation,
vindication,
and my soul,
conveying me in warmth
to Spring-born smiles.