The Mire

Blanketed In the snow

The chill from my heart

Numb with every footstep

Paced in the marching dawn

Twisted trees now whistle

The branches spiral to sky

No heat, no air, nor a lovers spell

Will keep me from walking in the fire.

Solitude in solstice

A murder of crows in mid flight,

With every breath

Alms for death

the space between the blink of an eye.

The forest whispers my name.

Husks crush, creak, snap, and they crack.

With every footstep taken

Too far in, to ever look back.

Moving wood and the root.

Eyes ponder a solemn wet rock

The dirt that spreads from natures dead,

The path of oblivion paved and marked.