Rest for the Weary.
Time keeps sending shivers to me.
Making me Cold.
Bringing back memories.
I’d like to feel some warmth,
but all I am is freezing these days.
I shiver -
Feel soaked-through like Winter clothes
brought inside, but left too far from the heater.
My fingers ache.
I have a memory of morning chores,
and watering troughs coated with ice.
I broke the ice,
so different, then than now,
with red hands,
and sharp intakes of Winter air.
Today, the Ice is dark, and the Cold is Bitter;
the ache comes from another place.
Time’s tidings, once glad,
now bring forth ill winds
that wrap themselves in wrinkles and weathered skin.
They remind me of all the days I should have either stayed inside
or put on skin cream.
Of the days when pallor was an indication of illness,
instead of a way to avoid it.
These shivers, and this cold, keep coming,
but they are in no way welcome.
I would shun them if I could.
Turn my face away from such sad tidings,
and seek some level of comfort
beyond the march of days.
Time.
It used to fill me with promises.
Now it’s only ugly,
and too short.