Snow nestled in silent hills
Silence in the frozen chill
Awake to the dawn of a wonderland
Beneath a sky painted by nature’s hand
Your whispered breath on the window pane
Mist of tears in your eyes gain
Momentum, then fall in heaves and sighs
You want to share the heightened emotion
But all that you see is your own devotion
He would have loved the snow
For he had no where to go
Now he dwells at heaven’s door
Asking nothing, feeling the cold no more
Deborah A. Bowman
The Labor of Love
by Deborah A. Bowman
Should it hurt to love someone?
Accept their barbs, lies, and the battles they’ve won?
That left you trampled in the dust, desolate and confused.
Or should you just turn away, separate yourself, be a recluse?
There can be peace and freedom from no interaction
From those who we are expected to love without condition.
Guilt seeping in with every whispered taunt.
Trying to accept and believe, but left only in want.
Sometimes it’s best just to lie down and rest,
Safe from the anger, jeers, and jests.
Sometimes it just isn’t funny anymore.
The time will come when you need less to achieve more.