Winter’s Edge

Sometimes the thoughts of wanting to be dead
Come to me when the tribulations of the day
Are better left unsaid
Like the flakes of snow silently floating
As if they never want to kiss the ground

The dogged memories of yesterday’s failures
Pace a slow creep, as if molded by the clay
Of tomorrow’s scriptures
Like the unwanted knowledge of death
From those closest to you among the drifts

Those very deaths now untethered, drifting
As if at sea, to keep my waking dreams at bay
And my moods shifting
Firmly beneath time’s weighted sands
The anchor now attached to my pillaged soul

The specter of the past, unwanted, yet inevitable
Struts along, uninvited but smiling, as if at play
And sits at destiny’s table
Never bothering with the courtesy of a knock
Let alone to wait for an unheeded answer

Visions are presented, as I, unsteady on a ledge
Trick myself into thinking, I actually have a say
Standing at winter’s edge
As to the terminal step, forward or back
An outcome preordained, but hard to know