The bitter winds of winter nip at my skin.
It worms its way through my muscles.
The chill soaks through my bones.
My blood feeds it to my organs.
My mind is blank.
My heart is cold.
My eyes are blind.
Is there no warmth left in the world?
Must blood be drawn?
Must endless tears flow?
There must be warmth.
In the silence,
I think of the sun.
It’s warmth and the possibilities it brings.
SONYA A WATSON 