Winter

Winter comes softly
like a loss of hope
it creeps in quietly.
Becoming colder
and colder
and colder.
Day by day
as nights take over
darkness impending.
Even the days are dark
there's no light
to remind how beautiful
things can be,
how alive you can feel.
The snow drifts down like ash
softly, slowly,
covering every trace of growth
as if the end has come.
Then winter fully descends
with moaning, howling
winds-- inner anguish.
It covers in a blanket
of heavy misery
snuffing out hope.
Until all that's left
is cold,white
emptiness.