Pure art Thou, my hallowed days of frost and darkened
skies.
Thy wintry majesty has faded, forgotten by inferior
mortals,
Thy frozen aura has withered, forsaken by futile prayers for
warmth.
Yet, eternally my arid soul yearns for thy northern
breeze...
A breeze of freshness, of cleansing, of life, untouched by
the wretched grasp of time.

Great might and virtue Thou bestoweth, days of cold,
mourning wrath.
Thy crystal tears from celestial heavens, have been dried by
prophets of untruth,
Thy magnificent dusks and bleeding sunsets- condemned by
fallen angels.
Yet, forever shall thy brilliant moon of the ages flee
before the scarlet wake of unseen dawns...
Penetrating dawns, at which sparkling dew shall emblaze
ruined fields with shrouds of glimmering light.

And though, all I wish for is another second of smothering
darkness...

The winter shall awaiteth me, and it shall always embrace my
tainted heart.
Yet, no matter how much I long for thee, thy scarlet dawns
and thy northern breeze cannot mend this morbid mankind...