Cold, so cold it falls with a vengence
never second-guessing where to fall.
Drifting always on the breeze; the smell so intoxicating it can make your head spin
to think of a scent so lightly taken.
So light yet so heavy and it still weeps so,
here, there it seems to spread like a rabid disease.
Then at times it falls softer and softer barely
a whisper on the winds.
At times floating to earth but
can change and crash like bricks.
A mere whisper as warm as the Caribbean Sea
but as cold as the land is dark.
So dark and so cold it ambles upon plains of a
barren earth without expression for remorse.
And it lurks, as a stranger among strangers never showing its true face or deceptive plan.
Like time slowing and then speeding up, however in a breath could simply fly.
It is so precious to those who cup it in their hands
and yearn for more when it disappears.
A breath of life that needs not be snuffed out
when it had lived only a short time.
Welling like a balloon it waits for that moment
when it can burst free of its cell.
Ardor grows as the summer dances along
waiting for the cold to fall upon the lands.
And the lands that wait and thirstily crave for,
praying silently for the rain to fall and sooth thieir limbs.