Alone for just a second
here in this box
where I reside
you've gone moment's away
and yet I feel lonely
Tires that could be a car
screech
attempting to stop
on this slippery surface
inside here
it's the place I go
when time allows
inside myself
I want to scream
or cry out
to break the spell
of a sweet winter
where cold snow fall's
to an encrusted ground
and makes the sky thick
with soft flakes
it could be that I don't know
how to see across
the dense snowy cloud
or that I slip
on icy pavement
where black ice
hides from me
The same as
that speeding car
while it spins
over icy
formed by the beautiful
wasteland
Crashing into desolate snow
and wounding us all
irreparably.
S. Elizebeth Turnquist
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