A white winter road is not
what I behold.
Grand imaginings of a crisp black
as the falling ash reveals its face to me.
The individual snowflakes become clones of one another.
Experiencing the objective pain
in a smokey trance.
The demagogue of grey wolves.
Tearing flesh blindfolded.
Searing within the mind's eye a
cursing brand of malice.
Hollow and feeble as strength fades.
Wrestling the current becomes a vindictive task.
Trust melted down into gold and silver.
The tongue is not unfamiliar with
that certain taste.
But atleast the pleasure of a sunset
will be waiting for me at the abrupt end.