Winter

Winter is not a wonderland
     It is pale and ashen
        It’s the deadened mind of sleep.

Paltry days weakly lit by the sun
     barely glow on decayed leaves
        once red and gold.

In your tortured wind you remind us
   of our own darkened days
         nearing their end.

You numb our bodies and frighten our minds
    You strip away the color
        and take away the light.

What secrets are you keeping by your silence?
    Are they formidable or unbearable?
        Does the evergreen vex you?

With you, it’s hibernation or hell.
     I turn my back on your faceless being
        I want to know you no more.