These winter nights lie long and cold
before you, like an icy road
that grants your well worn wheels no hold.
And so you spin
around and round, tossed to and fro
in frozen sin.
You rev your engine, not to gain
some hoped for ground, instead, to drain
your heart of salted, slushy pain
but it won’t bate.
What goes around comes back in veins
Your heat alone can not reduce
your load of pain. You need to use
some organs that change old for new.
Light, warm, fresh air
is waiting where you travel to
on this black glacier.
An astronaut sent through such space
would, with drugs, dilute to trace
the time and mind the travel takes.
But drugs won’t work.
You’d fall asleep, only to wake
back at the start.
Others sleep without a sound.
You hear their silence all around,
sliding over the frictionless ground.
Blind to night’s stare.
Deaf to their own baying hounds.
Life is not fair.
So curse the Gods that made you be
but gave you eyes so you could see
the distance that exists between
the man you are
and the man they made your eyes to see
as mankind’s par.
But pull and turn this rage inside
to burn the bane of your sick mind.
Your ice will melt. Your time will bide.
The sun goes down.
Another summer sinks behind
the long drawn blackout blind.