It is now a black winter.
The trees are dead with cold,
And I am dead with regret.
The sky holds no promises,
And the owls are present more than ever.
Am I under the impression
That all is well?
Yes, I'm such an overgrown fool
To think winter was off to a good start
When death surrounds this reservation.
The grass holds little life,
And the cold kills.
A black winter has set in where it was not wanted,
Sacrificing it's time with people,
Taking those away from me
Who I cherished and loved.
Damn the winter to hell!
When it snows,
All will be pure until
Black ice
Takes over the roads.
The souls wandering,
They have begun to wander less and less,
Until they are just standing there,
Looking at me for answers,
Answers I cannot give them
But desire to tell them something.
What's a spirit seer to do?
I revel in whatever is left of the fall,
Dead leaves on a musty ground,
Full of nothing,
And nothing is full.
The void deepens
And I fall into it.
I fall into the black winter
Until I am no better than the owls who hoot their warnings.