The Cold Embrace

I sit inside, under the sheet, in bed.

The cold grasps the window with mighty hands,

Tap, tap, tapping against the pane it said

Softly, a gentle nod; it understands.

It feels the pain that bites my soul and heart;

Beckons and begs me to move on and quit

Feeding the blizzard so I may still start

To see a Spring. I am a hypocrite.

But I so crave the death and birth cycle.

The cold to hot to ice to fire that rage

Inside or under the Tower Eiffel.

For in this play, my bed is but a stage.

Yet, winter was once my distant lover,

Now summer must share me with another.