A Winter Lament

I sit inside a moonlit room.

The winter wind

is howling .

The demons from my past

are here,

and in my head they’re prowling.

The rains from fall are freezing,

ice on windows ,

clinging.

I’m haunted by the ,

sounds of birds ,

that once in spring were singing.

I think of carefree youthful days ,

and the pleasures,

I have tasted.

Why does wisdom come

so late,

and in youth,

most often wasted ?

The night is growing colder ,

as the winter winds ,

are scorning .

I cling to shaky promises,

and with creaking limbs,

I'm mourning.