Whispers of winter
Drift over pearl dunes and dry cheeks.
Under sun dogs and over black bears.
Rushing into the windows of a smoking traveler.
Screams and whistles and moans.
Subzero scowls and hot coffee night owls.
Protest- then drift away
To the cheeks of farmers, cursing the winds of this January day.
When as man chooses to stop learning
Is the day that he truly dies.
The herd of the mundane
Ridicules the fires of passion as insane.
And so the man suffocates it.
The embers smolder, crackle, and hiss.
He has destroyed comfort and direction.
He is now cold and blind.
“You did the right thing.”
The herd offers its petty assurance,
“At least now you’ll have health insurance.”
But it is still so dark,
The man lays to rest
He’s toiled and troubled today
for someone who doesn’t know his name.
With eyes closed, he smiles.
That roaring flame that used to be.