The great expanse above hangs afloat,

And has taken on a dalmatian’s coat

 

The vanilla powder pounds into the dulled frozen ground

Like a silent soliloquy, unending, lonely, sound

 

It drones on and on till natures noise lands on my cheek

It reminded me of her…

 

A cold sickly touch filled with malice and dark intent

It rolls down my cheek as others do without relent

 

To think that even the beauty of a late winter storm

Could be sullied by a past self’s scorn

 

The nerve of that loud mouth bastard

I breathe, no worry, now Satan has her

 

Recollected, I step inside, she is a trouble of old

To leave behind such a nuisance, how cold