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

Tuesday, July 27, 2010