Antartic Seasons Sense

Gusts of Katabolic chill,
Blow piles of tussled drifts until,
A now encrusted heart falls deep,
Into a slumber crisp and steep.

And hibernate with guarantee,
The icy lair,
Entombed, and bleak,
Will snow til freeze, in colden air,
and colder yet a glacial snair,
Shall seize until,
We’re gone too weak,
No longer able for to seek.

And frosty feels, our seasons end,
Of what we knew, it’s come two-part,
In blizzards, split, has chilled in half,
Our life of warmth,
Sent blazened, sunned,
To take a separate fate reformed

Compare to now, we’re snugged and crept,
Towards eternal sleeping’s fest, is full,
And final show is left,
Us lone, in barren ends, at rest.

We knew,
We would not know them much,
Or more to know them much no more.

Not even nigh a meager hew,
No fell is left, nor shown neath mound,
Where once fore time we lent and grew,
No buried sense, displays,
Or reassures a calm these days,
Which hides our feelings, bound to ground.

And outward gains the fury’s gale,
Around all sides, severe to pound
Replacing all our storms, our fears,
As inert life learns, not to breathe,
Nor hears but nought within the sound
Of hearts tick dowsed,
And timed to seize,
The instant that we freeze.

Subverted by the covering shield,
Protecting, hidden as screen,
This shelter, everlasting yields-

A sanctum of our own.

So blow Antarctic passions through,
To cool unsettled times with you,
And blinding scenes and downward winds,
Preserve and plunge our falls, which sing,
Or cry,
About our final ceasing sigh,
Which now are covered mounds, so high,

We make,
The fissured fractured - break!
Eroded cause we’re gone and weak,
Encased in winters hardened cake,
Which fortifies the strength it takes,

An abstract form, of life,
Our verve,
Beaten by the weathered strife,
Deformed (nere)ternal nerve,

In ice that knolled its earth.