TundraWith the dappled white of his faceMore Like This
Standing against the glassy pane
He makes way for the Boogeymen
Who pull at the webbed breaks.
As faceless angels go traversing to write
My initials with ribbons of northern light.
All while the sun makes an end
Of those thirty days of night,
Making way for the snow flecked bear
Its maw decked with layers
Of frosted gore,
I find myself collapsing
Giving to the wintered pull.
My fingers feel the bite of ice
As my lids submit and fall.
I hear his footsteps, ever closer.
Feel the comfort in his call.
He brings me to my feet,
And I am lighter than the mist,
When I feel the gentle tug
Of what awaits my weightless form
We depart this land of ice and hell
Leaving my broken shroud eaten by the snow."