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November 21, 2022
"Mes de los Muertos"

Winter Wind

By Lothur Kane Winston

I bound from my bed
The dogs of winter at my door
I utter a curse
Distraught at not heeding
Their tainted call

Winds blow colder still
The fire of life dwindle low
Blowing with a majestic gust
Consumption is their greatest lust

The doors bang
Open with a clang
I groan
I moan

Age has claimed yet another
Who has out lived their mother
Bones aching
And Creaking

What I wouldn't give
To be rid of
This aching body
Or at least
The snow that has me trapped.

Article © Lothur Kane Winston. All rights reserved.
Published on 2006-01-23
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