Star struck innuendos

On a frosted morning, light grey and I see my breath

I feel my hands until I can't

I feel my neck and I'm helpless

I am awake, and not numb

I am muddled, and not surprised

Actively waiting, passively determined, frantically calm

The grey turns to blue

Dead trees

I know what I feel, it's everything

I'm not tired and I wish I were, and I feel no progress though I wish I may

Winter threatens and provokes

I don't know what it is I'm waiting for, or even why

The sun never rises, it only sets

Different pages under the same sky

The book is cold 'neath meandering shadows

Everywhere silhouettes, and then darkness again

Has it been weeks? Four years? Maybe lifetimes

For a moment it feels beyond my power, and I feel comfort

-P