I tremble under the weight of trembling eyelashes
Under which dark brows furrowed, survey me with a deep and frosty harshness--
I can see the depth of winter in his icy eyes; the pine trees shivering in the streaming north wind
The height of the silver skies bear down uon me, where snowdfrops should flourish
Only icicles stay, like ivory teeth from a pale white monster
And his grey eyes hold all of this, embedded in a snow globe, where the ends of a snowflaked city
Wash upon the shores of my existence--pallid stars bearing the flame of ancient winters
Where kings of dreams that are now snow and dust recline in the heavily-padded thrones and watch
With sparkling silver eyes, reflected pools of misery, that they stand alone, forever
And eternity is miserable, when company is cold and stardust falls unaccompanied
By moonshine or snowflake--how can you live and be happy, how can you live at all?
These are his eyes, the dull grey of his existence, now burning into my soul with an insurmountable fire
That pierces and reminds of the rushing rivers of nevermore, the dampness of moss now dead,
The avalanche of disintegrated hopes and desires flailing beyond his reach
In the indigo horizons that abandoned him and scorned his beliefs--left him to die there,
In hopelessness, helplessness, trusting to that last dream, what last dream of--what else?--
Death: the longing for sleep, that eternal rest under the autumn sheaves, before the coming,
The dreaded coming of the breaking winter, skimming across the frozen lake--your life
Dispersed as one of many when the wind strangles the pregnant treess--frost fairies
Riding on the air, early winter; then the storms, the storms, O he has seen them all!
And it is this entire weight, this unbearable burden of winter, the one, true winter
That lives beneath his brows, and trembling, I fall to my knees and weep--
I weep at the feet of a stone-cold, unemotional, impenetrable
Unloving statue.