And now, I shall make an acrostic poem out of my name.
As the Winter deepens into its dark abyss Letters like snowflakes fall from my wrists Battered by the bone cramping cold Usurping the mind Satiating the senses, bright and bold
Petals form of dying embers Entrancing the eyes Reviving a once known sense of ardor Candles flicker and strain In the bitter wind as Violet waves of hues conquer the plain Already transfiguring the night like a Lover's touch
Wild Untamed Lethal For that is where the spark lies Real and unreal Is it really a surprise? Could it all simply be surreal?
Be still Reason is an Illusion A farce Never wise to reason out a feeling
Does it hurt? Understanding the pain of the frost? Might I feel it? Beaten and bruised but courageous still Lions that conquer the stillness of night Each season has a purpose, a price Dare we question the might of nature Or risk it all Return to the cold death Each season must have its end.