Where is my soul? It lies in snow.
When will it die? I do not know.
Why all this coldness, why the chill?
Who are you, night? So dark, unreal.
What are these flames, so silver-white?
Winter might tell, and I shall write.
What it will be? Forms are so final.
Where it will lead? Ask time - the spiral.
When it will end? Fractals would know.
Who is the "I", that will not grow?
Why – always the eternal question.
Winter, the season - my detention.
© 2010 Lith Ium