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The Hell Of Winter (re-edited 4:27pm PST 3/9/2023)


******************************

hell is grey
its the wilds of Winter

hell is Grey
and the snows blankets
to bury it all

hell isn't on fire
its the burn of numbness
its the pain of not feeling
its the pale and the pall

Winter
they say
is a time for slumber

Winter is the time of rest
but Winter is a time
for feeling muffled and silent
and wondering
if the thaw will come
again (at all.)

I don't see Spring
nor her green mantle
I see the wraith-like winter
and its drab death shroud of white

no sun shines through
Its darkness
has gone into the earth
and underground
I'm buried alive
and I'd rather be thrown up
in a tree
not six feet under

Winter wears whiteness
a Specter hiding in the
absence of light

I'm in the deep freeze
of longing,
sometimes worry
will I ever be found
or found frozen
in time--
mind without sense
out of rhymes

Hell is grey
its the savage called Winter
and
I'm lost within the naked forest
where few birds sing
and the echoing howl of the wind
is the only song

the little birds are hungry
and the squirrel-people
have forgotten to store
their nuts
Winter has stolen their caches
and buried them deep
into the frozen icebergs of snow

Winter is Hell.
so grey grieves my heart
Still-grey, silent,
pale as a ghost



written as it came to me in my head
'3/9/2023 legal copyright for this poem 2:10 3-9-2023
time and date stamped and also for this writer
MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED
SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD.

re-edited 4L:27Pm 3/9/2023 time and date stamped. legal copyright retained
by the author/ poet Melissa A. Howells





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