Merry Christmas Poem by Ronnie Heaven

Winter eve, the slightest sound
Crackles like ice in a glass of scotch
Like flames lapping at defeated wood
My mechanical heart in key with my watch
And the temperature keeps dropping
Clouds thicker than fresh cream
Encroach upon the sparkling stillness
Of my wind up heart, my cogs, gears
It's the kind of silence that follows illness
And from here, there's no stopping
Heading south to seek ceremonial cheer
Maybe the stars will map out my future
They fly by like good days, better best
But leave me gasping, desperate for closure
To me, to me vague omens flocking
Perhaps this day will mark a start
Of tides turning westward to the deep secret sea
My circuits will pop, all rotation will cease
And when I open my eyes, she is all I see
And my volcanic heat is rising