Just when you’ve reached the desired
level of resignation, achieved
the long sour look of the bleached land,
the hollow eyes of the long fast;
come to terms with everlasting melts and freezes,
unpredictable slips and skids
on invisible ice;
just then, March comes to beat
death out of you.
Intolerably it lashes eyes,
swallows breath entirely,
forces you coughing to your knees
gasping to find a breath,
when all you expected
was withering,
then silence.
It bellows curses, flings
the parts of you anyhow covered in blood and bruises,
daring you to discover them
and string them in sentences
that speak of redemption,
of mercy, or maybe the final shove
into the icy sea of the living.
3/5/11
offeringstone 