Pining

I could pine with the evergreens, I could spread my empty arms like branches, aching for the snow to fall, to cover all my weary world in white. I could sway with grief in the warm winds. I could weep with the clouds in the rain— I love a winter far away. But You are … Continue reading Pining

In the End

That Christmas comes at the end, in the final breaths of a wasting year, is best. After the muscle-ache of trekking graveside and back, graveside and back; after the haunting loneliness— of beauty-gazing and solo-missions, of incomprehensible party chatter, of home without its people; after the long war— the blitzkrieg of unrelenting lies, and the … Continue reading In the End