Winter, the Murderer (work in progress)

The sun shines so bright
But allows the snow to stay frozen on the ground
Leaving the air bitter and painful.
Thus is the story of this winter:
Cold and miserable, grey and dismal,
Where even what light pokes through
The melancholy falls flat.

Decay continues its hold on the world now
In post-Valentine’s February.
Happiness of warmer days replaced
With the harsh realities, the great disappointments
Smiles disintegrate into frowns
While eyes bleed until they die,
The lifeless bodies ignored on their deathbeds.

Sometimes the birds thought Winter was over.
Sometimes the squirrels saw the sun and awoke.
They sang and they played as Winter played them
And the grey despair returned, tearing
Through their optimism and gaiety
And there they were, left alone, confused,
Freezing in the snow,
Motionless.
Silent.

Winter still mocks me through my window
With blue skies and bright lights
But I know the air outside is lethal,
That a demon lurks around every corner
Waiting to stab my heart with its fatal chill.
But why must it have the power to travel
Through the glass, into my room, under my covers,
Into my soul, raking its wicked hands through it all?
Why can’t I rest happy and safe ‘til Spring?
Or has it murdered Spring, too?