Winter Seeds

These old decrepit months
Rattle at me, their
Breath almost giving out

Their colours brown and
Black, they crunch as they die
Wracked with bitterness, melancholic

In their fading rage they cannot
Seethe now in the teeth of the
New  year gale virile and unpredictable

And all will be gone, blanked-out
By the mourning  of winter
Its stark song slowing in the

Icy breath of fresh blue January.
Alive and upright for the first time this
Dwindling year, I stand, brave

The keening blankness, the space
Which  nears nears as the days
Race away to a starting gate, a sanctuary:

A golden port: turning point of haze and
Widening  possibilities. I cannot even
Fathom such peace -

Can only stare at the
Colour looming there: a new
Dawn heralds hope within

Rays too bright to look on.
I peel myself out of the crust of those
Old rotting months which  have grown

Over skin, covering me in. I
Want to live again, be young and bold,
Slough-off the tired hoar of the last year

And begin the climb again, alone,
Encumbrances of sorrow gone, no
Shards of bone left to work their way

In, to stab my heart with pain. At last
We part, you and I - The young month
Nearly born is my first cold rune on

The silver ladder: a vertical gain
Extending miles beyond my  vision
Reaching as far as Heaven itself;

Who knows;  for I will hazard my way
Up, not look down,  look back, for
I have no lack of passion now - I

Stick fast to my hope's glory, the
Struts of its steel arms, and feel
The seeds of winter quietly growing.
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