Font Color='#880000'sordid Snows [sonnet] /Font
Drawn from a wayward wind, dragged loathing slow
by David Zvekic
Across the moore, to scratch a frozen knife
In winter's blood; The stained and sordid snow
That turmoil wrapped too tight - a troubled life.
His frozen fangs come snapping at burnt skin;
With sharp set arctic eyes pierced through his whole,
To judge, to reprimand what dreams begin
With frozen desiccate, in a shattered soul.
Claws clutching wring; mad howls at the moon,
Each pant, each breathing fibrous seed of doubt
To justify decisions made too soon,
And rend each raw particular of need out.
Don't ask a rustling breeze for time to breathe;
Life's too short that waits so long to leave.