Enigma Of The Winter Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

In my furlough,
Soon enough,
One might hear you.
Your horrible laugh.
Your scent of macabre
And abandonment.
A whole charade of treason.

Your wails are far from desperate.
You are the wintry wind
That sporadically whistles
During the exacerbation of the Summer -
And the people are startled
By this presence of the intermittent
Cold tail – your cold tail
From your even colder body
That is held, girdled close to the Earth
By the coldest and that is
Your soul.

Do you shiver in your skin?
You are the enigma of the winter,
And the ice caps, the ice bergs
That melt in the far-fetched distances.
In there, the Sun does not show itself
In merriment.
The Sun is veiled by portentous clouds
That are tainted by the abyss.
In your presence, the Sun is not burnished.
You are
The Christmas of the orphans.
The cold body of a corpse.
The stark photographs of the old.
The vagabond that is clad with snow.
You are everything
In between the cold wind,
And a hurricane.

One day,
During these troubled times,
You would wail,
And pang more often than
The chagrined people losing life.
And no one would hear you
Because in you,

The Sun sank.
The Moon drowned.
The stars died.
The foliages petrified.
The dreams shattered.