Winter comes.
The wind howls and the ravens stick around.
Perhaps for one more day,
To scrounge around.
They search forevermore,
or perhaps forever born to be alone.
Dead tree branch fingers snake their way through eyes untouched.
An eyelash fallen is an eyelash took.
A warm hand is a gentle touch,
only for a second, cause it's just too much.
Feet inward,
Feet outward, a porcelain face corrupted with tear drops.
Or snow.
Or the continuous rain that pours.
And pours.
A half smile and a crazy laugh,
like all that's happened is just another day passed.
And the night that has fallen is just another wrong path.
Another road less travelled by,
another long love lost in my....

Wrath.
A fevered bruise and a well mannered woman.
She's tipping her hat to all those "good-riddance."
A feathered glove and a toss of blonde hair,
A night to remember,
A night that won't dare.
To abuse the common sense that runs thick through these lines,
to abuse the "What is she saying" over and over,
in our minds.
Colors have been sucked dry till its ash and dust,
but what will have happened to all the lust.
The desire that winter comes,
a fierce road to a path untouched.
And when I open my eyes,
Will you be there.
For spiders and monsters, I have no fear.
But footsteps down Frost's influential road,
no turning back,
more stories untold,
I fear.

I fear,
Who will tell mine when I've grown tired and grown old.
Who will tell mine,
of mistakes and choices bold.
Who will tell mine,
of lust and desire,
of winters turned cold.
of eyes left untouched and branches growing mold.
Who will tell mine,
when winter comes,
Again,
I am alone.