Dear, whomever this letter reaches,
In the desperation, last ditched notion of legacy, I wrote it. I want to remember, to hold onto the feeling of the quiet cold of the world awakening and the bite across my bare pale flesh as the sun shines, though its power is bereft and left us. I sit and ponder existence, purchase and agency as my skin becomes taut and blemished by the pierce of the frozen, meeting the warmth that still pumps through my body. The frost has taken its grip at Jack Frost’s behest. When you channel power toward a cause—one you have no reason to belong to—do you truly have agency? Especially when Jack’s bitter hand rests on your shoulder, promising a better future than the past you’ve endured.
Even with much thought and reasoning, the threat of embitterment still hangs heavy, does it not? Or does simply the heavy shadow of guilt tarnish any reasonable argument against a lack of willpower and diseased agency?
As the cold envelopes me like I am one of its own, I can't help but wonder if things may have been different before the pre-winter dusting landed across the dew-wet greens of the lawns, the devastated wasteland that was once a lush and dense parkland. Would things have been different if different choices had been made or if different paths had been taken? I think too of the phrase I heard recently, "There is no good, just bad and worse", and wonder if that applies. That’s too negative to dwell on. As pre-death rigor mortis sets in, brought by winter's promised hold, positive thinking feels far from apt.
Tears form in swollen, bloodshot eyes, warmer than cold. Ice clings to my lower eyelids, sweat from my walk crystallizing and solidifying before I can move. Is this my tomb? In the cold? Is this what I deserve for all the things I've done and all the things I never bothered to do? Self-inflicted, you’ll say, as you read these final words — as if I chose this, chose the cold, chose this end. Perhaps. But then, that is when the agency, purchase, and the whole problem of whether we really have free will and can really do things devoid of emotional and traumatic baggage. When does excuse end and reason begin? Do they ever? Looks like I will never find an answer as the frost wraps me up.
If you find this, know that I love my family and the friends who bothered to stick by me. I fear I will not make it past the frost's initial appearance. My body is already... giving way.
In the words of whoever said it best — there is no good, only bad and worse. Perhaps there’s only frost. The cold that will finally claim me.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
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Comments (21)
This is absolutely amazing. Genuinely shocking to me that it's not a top story! The voice in this is intense, painful, and cold. This whole piece carries a chill to it. Profound writing!
Highly original and very memorable! Feels like the temperature dropped a few degrees while reading this. Very well done, Paul! Add this to the great collection of entries you’ve crafted for this challenge
Wow that was good. So vivid I could feel the cold. Well done sir
Very powerful! And I think it's the most original entry to the challenge I've read so far!
Oooh, I like this. Very powerful imagery, vivid descriptions. conveys a sense of hopelessness.
Oh my, that was so sad. I believe we have a winner here for this challenge. This was such a brilliant and unique take of it. I loved it!
What an amazing letter and response to the prompt at hand. So original and creatively spun. Well done, Sir Paul.
This was so well written. It was so bleak and sad though. What a smashing entry - good luck!
This is such a unique take on the challenge. A battle to hold on and let go at the same time. It's completely different for any other entry I've seen. Excellent work, buddy. Good luck.
This definitely a letter that will have the reader think. Great work.
Wow!!😳 This reminded me of Shackleton’s expedition… the desperation & cold!
Hits hard because the dark short days are a huge vice for me, yet with hardship comes ease.
This is scarier than I was expecting, Paul, a surrender to the cold and the darkness following a hard life. Really well written and quite disturbing. I think this is far and away the most contrarian entry I have read for the frosted verse challenge. Are you OK?
An excellently penned depiction of a person's sense of isolation. The metaphor is nicely woven in in a show-don't-tell way- nicely put together, Paul.
Ho Ly Shit PAUL! I loved literally every curve of every letter of this piece! So perfectly assembled, I could feel the cold creeping across my skin and the howls of the wind outside were amplified as I read This line in particular just spoke to me ""There is no good, just bad and worse", and wonder if that applies. That’s too negative to dwell on. As pre-death rigor mortis sets in, brought by winter's promised hold, positive thinking feels far from apt."
😫😫😫 this is the sad part of the cold I hate. Some people don't have the choice, and some don’t have the mental state to seek help. The frost can really overtake people. Excellent writing. It made me feel and think.
Holy son of a B&#h. This is so overwhelmingly good. A dark, fantasy style poem that feels like a novel in the making. Totally blown away, seriously. What a way to start my reading day.
Tolkien is smiling down upon thee...
I wondered a bit while reading this what entity was narrating. I'm still not entirely sure. A very deep read, either way!
I was waiting for this and it didn't disappoint. Gripping and dark but somehow beautiful. I wonder if as we get where we are going we get such clarity? If anything does or will ever make sense? Hmmm 💜
Well-wrought! It is often when we face mortality, especially through the cold and dark, that our thoughts become clearer and our expression more poetic, so this is a perfect cross-reference of an epistle to a poem. I concur with Shelley, who in his Defense of Poetry, argued that all language is poetry, and that poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. On that score, I will use these words to confirm that there is good, but that sometimes we have to go through bad and worse to get there, and that even when some of us don't make it, we can leave something valuable in the form of a memory worth grieving, as your protagonist here seeks to do.