Winters chill fast approaching,

Trees barren of supple leaves

Stand cold and hard–unfeeling.

Still my heart beats–

Pulsing warm and full of life;

Though invisible to the naked eye

Like the tree…I live,

Waiting to usher forth that which I hold close.

My passions roil inside begging release,

But this runs contrary to my grain.

Struggling as that of the springtime bud

To escape from their dormancy.

Perhaps this cocoon is of my own making,

Protecting me from imagined fears.

I push…push with all my might

Against my ivy covered shell

Long shuttered to keep the frost at bay;

Exposure to the cold starkness of life too much to bear.

This is not what it is to live

Instead it is simply existing,

Void of true joy, void of heartfelt bliss

I will hibernate no longer.

This will be my spring, my season of renewal,

Buds of my inner self will burst forth

Freeing me of my self-imposed bondage,

Allowing me to thrive

In the sunlight of the everlasting day.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~