Spring

It may be Spring,
but the clutches
of a most horrific winter,
ravage my insides

Where branches break,
with a sickening crack
broken limbs,
scattered around the silent tracks

Where the road
is quite obliterated
covered by an unyielding, ivory down
spreading all over the frozen ground...

empty house, with a vacant stare
newly born strangers
who do not care,
not related to this point of view,
There is no me,
inside of you...

Mathiasthom
written 3/30/08