MORNING:

There is something so silent & still about a very cold morning. The ice sits & stares at me with glassy eyes, not interested in my response to their silent questioning. The spiteful air encases me in a tight embrace that nobody else sees, but i feel its hurtful vengeance. The sky is nonexistent in its vacancy, & the sun stays away, not wanting war. The trees hang their bald branches in frozen fear. Flowers weep their first spring-thought petals, & birds sing their silent songs within their feathered hearts, mute to the ears of those who know not how to hear.