The Sharp Teeth of my Bite

I am December to the seasons.
I wonder how bitter I can be.
I hear the claw of bare branches.
I see Ice float in the sea.
I want to quiet warm hearts.
I am making you dead like me.

I pretend to be nothing.
I feel your spine with a shiver.
I touch the root of vitality.
I worry of him, the life giver.
I cry snowflakes on saplings.
I am a gun in control of its trigger.

I understand the night.
I say threats to the sun.
I dream of vanishing light.
I try to coil god’s hand, and make it go numb.
I hope to steal you away and have you tied tight.
I am forcing you to bleed with the sharp teeth of my bite.

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed