- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Storm
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Cold, unyielding, icy spicules,
Piercing the fleeing warmth,
Howling in agony around me,
Leeching the life from my flesh,
And I plod forth.
Disoriented, dizzy with pain,
The unending path before me,
The darkness alive, seething,
The crunch of snow underfoot,
And I plod forth.
I hardly remember the warmth
Of the last fire,
Shredded to nothingness,
Icy remnants, frozen fossils,
And I plod forth.
But I slow now,
I can't summon the will
The will to keep moving
Toward an unattainable goal,
And I plod forth.
I've stopped somehow,
But I forget when this happened,
Or why I ever began moving,
I feel cold no longer,
As when I plod forth.
Nothing seems to matter now,
No goal to attain,
No need to stand,
No need to think,
As when I plod forth.
Lying down now,
Not worried about why I'm here,
No clarity of thought,
No cold though I remember vaguely
When I had plod forth.
Looking up into the storm,
Not because I care,
Or because I seek the sky,
But because I froze this way.
No more shall I plod forth.
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