In Winter Poem by Kevin Patrick

In winter
there are no lines of the horizon
Just a vacuous sea
shifting
The milky silhouette streams
of purgatory
And razing
the desolate tides
Of sweetest melancholia


Everywhere you go
becomes a plain
without shape
Like an inescapable maze
without walls
You can walk a hundred
sleeping miles
and still be standing
at the starting line
Its like being a flee
On a piece of white paper
Geography becomes ambiguous
And the on route service
Only serves angst


The world is locked
in in an ice capped vice
snow invades every corner
it conquers lawns,
trees and worn out shrubs
invades rooftops
cars and football bleachers
it even penetrates
the chains of swing sets
it rewrites nature
with its own signature
erasing all that's green
and lush
in a whitemare
holocaust


Even the air tastes claustrophobic
Overwrought and Stilted
As if the molecules
have checked out on life
because they've lost the attitude
for the anemic altitude
Soon your skin feels the sting
Of a razor blade breeze
like being hit with a whip
with sharpened teeth
and your pours become swollen
as your cheeks come to glisten
in the wildfire scarlets
of firebombed capillaries

But there is calmness
Exclusive to this season
It is a vacuum
Echoing the cosmos
Pregnant with space
And primeval coldness
Molding a dimension
Of existential tensions
Neither cruel or benign
Just naturally sublime


It is the coldest season
That warms my soul