Unthaw

In the cobwebs of cold comfort
my restless soul wrestles
paralysis. Caught between the tension
of shame and the desire—
but seeming inability—
to change.

Winter’s cold clings, no,
seeps into the unseen deep,
stills the dance into a dull dirge,
and I march against the beat,
wearing only a frozen smile
that mocks the very memory
of heat.

Stop. But if I freeze in disbelief,
then I am wasted winter’s bones,
I am death’s gaunt grin
shivering on the cold steps
of regret, and the hope that my failures
have twisted into torment.

Wait. But if I hide beneath
the grim pall, will I become
the dust pallored wraith,
haunted by the mirror
of the man I might have been?

Arise. Awake. I will prevail.
Put on the clothes of Christ
and stoke the effervescent
fire grown pale. Stir the stale
water till—bubbling up—
it overflows the fallow…