He followed her footprints,

bare and slender in the snow,

waves of laughter were subsiding

in the milky, timeless flow.

Ancient stars and savage beauty,

but his heart felt cool and numb.

Her name was December

and he knew the time had come.

The light of a mem’ry

cradled in two marble hands,

embers of a last, swift summer,

gleams of green and rolling lands,

but the clouds were freezing over,

brittle blossoms fast asleep,

her name was December,

he had forgotten how to weep.

Silver moon and swirling crystals in another time and place,

somewhere his friends where shouting warnings but he couldn’t turn his face,

he was drowning in the silence of her darkly flowing grace

and winter’s deep embrace.

Clad in dreams of wind and shadow, northern lights burned in her eyes,

her hair was glistening with shivers of some distant, callous skies,

but he’d seen the child in tatters lost within those walls of ice

and there would be a price.

They followed his footprints,

empty hills lay white and vast,

on the shoreline of December

while the year was ebbing fast.

Then, far off, the bells where tolling

and they knew the two had gone.

They sank deeper in the starlight,

still they walked on.

They walked on.


(02. 02. 2010)

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