On a cold morning day she dared him to walk the distance.
In frost, barefooted he started his pace, behind him a closing door.
Through Taiga and Tundra, he wandered for lights
In his quest of refulgence he burnt his nights
Battered from the tempest, he reclaimed his steps
His ego cast away, storm battled, he whispered the door
The curtain moved, the corner raised and she asked “who are you”?
Her denial in small words drove in him with cold steel knives,
He survived the winter tempest to be pierced by her frosty dagger.
Head dropped, hope culled, he turned dragging on an aimless course
Time turned into coarse wrinkles, her black into grey, overcome by remorse
The door she slammed then, now stands open howling into desolation
Gazing into wintry aimlessness, she now awaits him by the window
28t August, 2012