FROZEN

FROZEN

Now that winter is here the damask roses are shivering.

I want to gather them up in a gentle embrace, a fierce effort to keep them warm

but my fingers are frostbitten with distant chords uncharted. My heart is frigid, my soul is frozen, every fiber of what I once was has withered and perished.

There is nothing left of warmth, nothing left of my fragmented past. Nothing left but pale traces of  distant  wounds that stab like ice encrusted knives.

Forget the past. No one is left to embrace it. This persistent winter has expunged hearts and souls. Nobody cares.

I should look to the future, but there is none. Winter is a ruthless, thankless,  endless obstacle. The very thought of a possible spring is inconceivable. It no longer exists.

Jon Varga

Caught in the lethal jaws of an unforgiving midnight

My writing, my words, my unintended thoughts and images are merely SHIT. Forget them.