The Warmth of Winter

He missed the warmth of winter.

His was a heart
laden
with such sorrow,
it had evolved into
a tangible form.
It clung to his
soul
like wet clothes.
Leaving him
weak,
cold,
and forlorn.

Patiently her yearned
for winter’s
ice.
It gifted him
a brief
reprieve.
For frozen under
it’s translucent
embrace,
his dormant sorrow
he could temporarily leave.

With his sorrow suspended
in winter’s
tableaux,
he could bask
in the heat of
relief.
But buried in
the catacombs of thought,
he knew the icy cloak
would unsheathe.

Now breathing in
the sounds of summer,
the sun-dappled
ice
began to
thaw.
Cold would his heart then grow.
As sorrow
became his friend
once more.

He missed the warmth of winter.