the dying days are tinged with brown regret,
defined by the lowering clouds
the ceaseless rains
tumultuous torrent of monsoonal ferocity
pooling in the empty bottom
of my broken heart, salty drops
frozen with the first frosty gale
out of the north
my wounded heart heavy in ice
winter comes at last
my rain turns to bitter snow, buffeted
by blizzard winds, my heart shifts
under the frozen weight
of shattered dreams, now only thin ice
protecting a broken heart
the only flames tossed into my soul
strike matches, each one burning bright
before being snuffed out
images of you
melt my icy heart until
the rain begins again
it always turns to snow
in the end
