Little Words Of Winters'

To believe is belief itself,

But these little words of winter are surreptitious;

Perspiration poured copiously down her face,

And then the little me wants to strangle the big me within,

The irrational emotions generated in the deeper mind,

Mystic awe, excitation and fear;

But she was seeing with dead eyes...

Instantaneous sensation, dread to error;

Having seen the end, willed the means to realization of the end;

As within so without,

And there is always someone who wants what we have,

The dead past becomes alive and audible once again,

In those morning tantrums,

Where sinister shadows arrive with dawn and the shadows flee away forever...