The weather cold intrudes my skin, my soul.
My hands stay closed, too stiff to start a fire.
Regretting choice, the pity mine is full,
But life is right! Survival’s my desire.

I stretch my limbs, I fight the bitter ice.
My heart pumps blood and strengthens weakened hands.
I strive for life, to escape depression’s vice
And overcome its frozen deadly bands.

For chance to live I need a spark, a flame.
I gather twigs; I light a match; it dies!
A second match goes out, the wind’s to blame.
The final match will burn, or hopes are lies.

The match extinguished after twigs ignite
My hands are warm because for love I fight.


J. Abram Barneck.
Copyright © 2003 by Rhyous, Inc.  All rights reserved.
Revised: 08 Dec 2003 17:07:04 -0700.

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