Escape

A poem

Picture Courtesy of Andrew Neel on Unsplash

Oh — how the winter winds are cold.
Yet I must go, I could not stay.
It is not safe — or so I’m told.

For while the frigid winds are bold.
It is, in here, where demons play.
The subtle darkness, uncontrolled.

She tempts the mind with views of gold.
But souls will surely feel betrayed.
For what is found cannot be sold.

Oh — let me go then, to the cold.
Where beast can tear the flesh away.
Still — tales of greater loss are told.

Inside, a soothing hand to hold.
But all the same, a price to pay.
What lies ahead, has been foretold.

Oh — how the winter winds are cold.
Yet I must go, I could not stay.
It is, in here, where demons play.
The subtle darkness, uncontrolled.

John Parsell 2024/