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Friday, February 12, 2010

Gripped

Winter holds on with her cold tight grasp
clinching an icy fist around my throat
as I gasp and cough
while her knuckles turn white from the tension.

Color drains, beginning with her fingertips
continuing until little remains,
threatening to steal that very life
which holds me.

My darkness contrasts with the glaring snow.
Yet as energy fades hope builds.
I sense a weakening.
The pale fist is beginning cramp.

From within her grasp I pace and twist.
Searching for an opening
for those frozen hands to regain their life’s blood
allowing my escape.



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