Winter Sun Poem by Tara Teeling

Can you save me,
winter sun in the grey cotton?
I see you peering down,
rays clawing through the
thicket of December.

Does your foggy yellow have
the power to dry up the
milky film of a dead spirit,
or is this just a game to you?

Winter sun, you taunt me.
You peek through my window
filling me with just enough hope
to sustain a cheerful second,
before you punch me
with your two-fisted withdrawal.

A swift, soft, blinking exit with
no promise of return brings
despair from the pit of me
and lets it stream down my face.

These temperamental fits of radiance
do nothing more
than pain my tired eyes.
Perhaps I’m better to sit in darkness,
than to wait for this fickle scheme
to end.

The disappointment
of a lost, shining moment,
is far more damaging
than the unfailing blanket
of night.

Winter sun,
does it give you pleasure
to dangle your light
before me?

If I close my eyes,
you cease to be,
as do I.