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The Winter House Midnight in the winter house, high atop the hill; calling out for something else, lying silent... still The snow, it starts to flurry, setting thin upon the ground; the lights blink slow, and hurry, round such needled limbs, they're wound Flickering, they settle, as flakes born briefly melt; walls weary, test their mettle, against the hands they're dealt A year numb, blunt... a club bereft, with little time to spade; Heartbeats torn, with not long left, as diamonds dissuade Spinning in a darkness, flawed, so bright, so right... so true; as seasons cycle, underscored ... a lifetime missing you with secrets buried in the snow, a mind can drift for days; to places I will never know, to faces long erased Faded in a dying light, an hourglass's grace; need some time to make things right, to set them back in place Mistakes made in a summer haze, left buried neath burnt leaves; lost amidst a winter maze, a labyrinth of thieves that play upon the truths we lost, with lies that blaze like coal; wanting more, the seasons cost, false reasons take their toll with spring locked down 'neath furloughed snow, an autumn of remorse; cut off from the town below ... cut off from the source Stranded, landed, somewhere else, high atop a hill; Midnight at the winter house, lying silent... still |