Words Are Winds Of Winter

Prayers begin as snowflakes

and i have prayed myself a wintry palace of glistening white.

And as i sway to the moan of trees in the unforgiving wind

my milky sighs for a cold cloud of supplication

with plucking of silvery heartstrings

i beseech the full moon.

Frosted nightfall does not dissuade me.

The depth of my desire makes blizzards,

swirling, ashen winds

wrapping me like a burial shroud.

and the intensity of my belief calls down God's mercy,

which melts all the snow into white hot joy.