Last winter, I saw the passion
You must login to vote
of blazing storms and
the brutal, lethal winds that
swept over my lands,
vanquishing any thin hope of life.
I saw the blanket of thick, lustrous clouds hanging o’er,
before finally smashing open
as we drowned in an endless hailstorm.
Many years ago, winter meant
the sounds of joyous walks
in awe of blanketed woods.
The sounds of merry laughter
and the ancient whispering of familiar stories
ringing clear through the foggy air.
Now, whole villages have been
violently assaulted by that mortal foe,
Derelict houses lay in waste,
collapsed on themselves while
the few who remain huddle together
in a last, futile cry for hope.
The town hall, forged by the hard labour of
men that are now buried forever,
is the one standing pillar in a white sea
of destruction and death.
Child’s laughter has silenced, to
be replaced by weeping, or worse,
that grim, unending silence.
The elders tell their stories no more,
but find what little comfort they can
huddled around pitiful embers.
The storm rages on, and the men can
do nothing except watch and wait
They watch their pathetic pantry become barren as they
struggle to keep their families alive,
while they themselves watch each other die.
I remember all this, for on Valentine’s Day
we were still trapped.
On her deathbed, my fading wife
gave me what little offering she could.
I was sickened when she told me,
but I was bound by a promise too rashly made
and memories of my beautiful Lisa
haunted me with every bite I took,
hating and cursing what was keeping me alive.
I remember, because though we have gone from
one thousand to a dozen,
we believe in the power of life,
and we believe we can start anew.
Someday, I'll write a story about dodgeball and they'll make it into a movie.