Winter produces melodies of a darker nature:
stone-cold capillaries bursting into flame
like so many trees shivering with agony
in the empty cold.
Winter gives birth to dreams of a starker nature:
visions of loves lost & threatening to disappear,
shuddering into silence with every wish
upon some feeble star.
Winter cries skyward in tones of bitter sorrow,
yet looks to tomorrow with desperate eyes
which touch upon the ocean’s blue &
dare to hope.
Years may pass, but winter stands the same,
& perhaps it is that similarity which
returns supposedly lost feelings
of deja vu.
Winter is but a season & cannot deny
its essence, no more than it can
deny the banshee dream whose cries
echo amidst the fallen snow.
Words are one thing; truth is another, &
some things never fade.
by Savannah Cooper