So it's wintertime and all the snow <br />lies cold on the ground. The temperature <br />is below zero and yet it is not as cold <br />as the words we throw at one another. <br />The kids are playing outside and just <br />maybe they're afraid to come inside. <br />Mommy and Daddy are playing games <br />of being too polite to each other. <br />And the neighbours light a fire <br />in the hopes that the flames will <br />melt the ice that has grown up <br />between us. But as quickly as the <br />ice starts to melt we dash cold water <br />into the burning mess. Somehow we <br />live through the days pretending that the <br />words we say are representative of <br />the bonds we break around us. It seems <br />very important that each of us retains <br />some sense of balance. But the problem <br />lies in what we define as reality. The words <br />we use in careful tones are words so cold <br />they slice the tendons of our vows. And <br />I cannot help but wonder what picture <br />we will be drawing some years from now. <br />One can only imagine that as the spring <br />approaches still we will be locked in <br />the winter of our love. For seasons may <br />come and go, as they always do, but <br />we in our icy rooms can only stay <br />and face the snowstorm of our demise. <br />It's a magic moment in eternity and <br />I whisper words of comfort to my mind. <br />Let the snow continue to fall and maybe <br />in the cold we can freeze ourselves into <br />icicles of despair. Than let the flames <br />begin again and let us hope they melt <br />enough despair away to let the sunshine <br />come back in.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-of-our-love/
