Winterborn

streets covered in winter, frozen missteps treading to every shadow,
the dark has it's own splendor, to hide crying eyes
and dilute a loving gaze to simple streaks of  faded highlights
too thick for the tight irises of those absently passing by
begging that their every step bring back a small sample of heat to a world which has lost their appreciation....

glamor is just the mask layed out in smears on the insecure flesh which shivers
and cracks in the forbidden occurrence of being exposed to air....
doubt plants it's sour seeds in every hope and dream
and trickles its way down to every root and cripples nostalgia into painful rememberings
that spin like captive orbits in an obsessive dance that tires nothing but the body it swings....

and in the shadows spin the lives of the succumbed and give-ups and preys to despair,
for the rules numbering two of the winterborn masses proclaim:  
never let them see you cry; never let them see you care;
that's when it gets you, they say......

.......i know you tried, lit the wick and let the flame burn it black,
risking the core to harden until the spirit grows rigid and unyielding...
what was once unwilling decays into unable,
what cares, but is afraid to show it, eventually just doesn't;
hold in those tears, and a day will come when they just won't fall......

i know you tried, tried to escape the cold by desensitizing your ability to feel,
saw the colors of a brilliant waxen candle, felt the pain of longing its vision brought you,
and thus, tried to burn it away;
and your spirit was true-strong, stirring and stirring.....
too much time to live through so much nothing,
and such a powerful mind for dreaming creates the war with a reality
where dreams awaken to die.....

but all feelings cannot be sleign, such as the feeling left by the vacancy of rejected feelings,
and the hope that will not yield nor sway is the hope for the ability to hope again........