A Dying Soul

Midnight steps through all of the untouched white,
Make the stains seem so faded and light.
I step onward ever still to a place I don’t know. 
Coasting, cold, through the cool mint snow.

As the arms of those that I would hold dear,
Taunt me warm as if they could be near.
The embrace I feel is some wicked kiss,
As my madness replaces all of my bliss.

My legs stumble on even as my feet go numb.
My heart grows cold and my voice goes dumb.
I’ll cry out and steam pierces on through the cold.
Mortal wounds bleed from this stricken soul.

And as my tongue tastes the snow falling down.
My knees will bruise against the frozen ground.
Tear-stricken eyes beckon doomed love home.
And there I lay dying, as woe becomes stone.

While the body is warm, the soul grows faint.
And the blood pools out like crimson paint.
The world is now vibrant and given two coats.
And the rest surrounds me, no bridge to the moat.

And here still lays dead this poor lover’s soul.
As my body onward walks, through winter’s cold.
If I ever feel your arms again surround me.
I’ll live again, but till then, here is where I’ll be.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed