Late Winter

It was spring,
but winter’s woes still lingered,
ghosts of Christmas past were running late,
recoiling when I politely informed them that my lesson had been learned,
and so,
once again, in the freezing flurries of a greedy winter,
I was alone.

I’ve nothing to wonder about,
but I wander with a busy mind.
Clean hands, but a collapsing conscience.
This is not my guilt.
This is not my frost.
Nothing is mine,
and yet, everything falls upon me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: