Now the snow just as might lay

cloaking all the remains

shrouding of all the wounds

and sores

of losses and fatigue

with pure, white

amnesia



The shrieking ruin

of a hard winter's kiss

takes forever more summers

to mend

Rather it lay cold and dead

than revealed in all

it's necrotic splendour



In days of revolt

I too would carry a torch

and swing at my arrows

But time is ruthless

and heals nothing



For the sun uncovers

by it's taunting rays

are like swords to lies

life and dreams,

however nightmarish

(are built upon)