Just a sudden free write inspired by sitting alone in a huge, drafty house with the winter wind striking it head on.

It’s cold outside - the bitter winds blow through
into my home by way of the chimney flue.
The shadows stretch and the memories moan
inside of this century old home.

I hear the noises of a past not forgotten...
A past that’s not lost to the dead and rotten.
A future’s wasted...no dreams have I now
just plodding through life...existing somehow.

It’s cold outside - those old windows shake
and chatter in a language too foreign to partake.
So I listen to the conversation with deaf ear
ignoring that brutal wind that’s ever so near.

I hear the noises of a thousand dreams shattered
into frozen shards of things that never mattered.
The future is nothing in this dark, empty place
it’s only more pages on the calendar before my face.

It’s cold outside - it’s creeping inward to my heart.
It’s gripping with icy talons and whispering art
of the blackest nature into my mind and into my soul.
Woe, world...I feel that I’m losing all control.

It’s cold inside - my heart has coughed, frozen and died.
It’s cold, it’s dark...the promise of warmth is nothing but a lie...
Too tired of waiting for the sun and it’s welcoming thaw.
I’m a creature...a creature so beastly, that I appall.

©February 4, 2006 Lori S. Maynard
7-minute free write 10:32-10:39 p.m.