Frost
When the sun for too long has gone
and the dark has held me in its cold embrace,
when the days have vanished in thin air
and when the gods of nature on their face
have a scolding frown that rips the sky apart,
then I look out the window and see
nothing but the frost my prison.
Claustrophobia. Nostalgia. Loneliness. Despair.
Four walls the beacons of the recluse in winter.
Four words the guardians of the mind in the dark.
Four pains the reminders that everywhere there's life
when one looks hard enough through the frosted glass.