our eyes always glistened
more during a peak of
wrath inflicted by the sky,
versus the bittersweet,
half-assed,
self-medicated,
coma.
as the seasons transitioned
the sky wept softly.
the sun was alive
in spirit but nearly
burnt out in presence.
snow seemed to
seep seamlessly
into the wounds.
but for how many
more decades will
we allow our bones
to thaw out once a year
until all that holds us up
shatters?