Poem: Winter

With very little

I roam for a sign

to rid my life of misfortune.

The sky above is dim;

insomnia haunts like clouds.

The first snowfall of childhood

was a path I wandered, as if

I was a sheep separated from

its flock. The further I wandered down

that path, the more I obscured myself

from everything I’d known. I was a sheep

whose wool inked black the further it traveled

away from its herd.

That path led me here, bad luck plaguing me

as I continue to wander for a sign. Purity and

innocence has been engulfed in darkness. White

snow corrupted by my blackened wool.

The shadows are all I can see, my skin has numbed

from the cold and the hurt. I can’t see my breath within

the frozen air.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep...