The cold night grips me like frost clinging to Christmas morning windows of houses abandoned for warmer climates. <br /> <br />The rustling of the leaves on trees swaying in the wind and the faint sound of a solitary cricket fail to cover the all too deafening silence. <br /> <br />The steel chair’s icy sting travels through my body, through the armrests to my bare forearms, up and down my spine chilling all my vertebrae. <br /> <br />The garden greenery, lush and vibrant in daytime, have wilted in the darkness, flowers and branches shying away from my presence. <br /> <br />Enduring the cold, the silence, the chills, the solitude, I stare, at the empty seat beside me… and wait.<br /><br />Warren Augustus de Guzman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/picking-petals-off-roses/
