Frigid Winters

The brittle agony in my joints, the tug on my heart with every step, riddled with chills and grief. She circulates flowing sorrow throughout my windows, and around my room, curving by my walls. Stopping to kiss my cheek, a kiss that holds resentment and hate for me that I greet with eager eyes. The want for something new I suppose, the change excites me and the cold doesn't bother me, nor the dry hostile environment she makes. She makes a fire brew with deep crimson hues over blazing blues. My lungs a fireplace, my neck a chimney and, out, out comes the smoke with words of fiery. I fight her off with all my power. An anticipated match which I await not with insatiable hunger, rather something much deeper, a natural flow which I cannot avoid; how tides flow in and out. A fight against the queen, I am merely a pawn among millions, and there is only one opponent, she holds all the power. Giggling, I tremor in my steps, fidgeting, I hide my timid nature with the fire I desperately reach for, fiddling my fingers to spark a red glow. Her name is Winter, I hear her calls in the back of my mind all year long, yet when her gentle frigid white long fingers tap on my window I am truly awake. She rips away my viel, my eyes open to the cold bitterness. Winter must hate the world for she is a woman all men desire. Her white blue beauty holds sparkling crystals, luring in those who adore and chase after her treasures. They fall into puddles, drowning in her coolness and treachery. The prophetess with the most cunning eyes, anticipating my every move. With a confident flush I go to fight lifting up my sword of power, a fearsome thing to behold I must attest. Not enough, I feel the rise of little frozen bumps appear on my arms and her sweet breath blows the back of my neck, I know she has won. Alas, the snow hits the ground and the frozen air flows freely across the plain fields, now waving white flags of surrender as snow covers everything, in the once bright city. Her rule cools down the flaming lights of the city, everything comes to a halt. Trenching back to my yellow warm world, riddled with synthetic suns which Winter had hidden away. I admire her foe or friend, it was never a battle I can never win. Now I bide my time watching her whimsical movements, so severe and sharp that if I reached out to prod her it would surely cut my warm flesh. So odious winter must detest all that is warm. So I sit along the window, no more to ponder, and no more to fight.