Cracks in the Surface

Winter creeps in, a slow encroaching sigh,

I hear the ice split beneath the weight of trees.

A crisp sound like a love that waves goodbye,

as if the cold itself knows how to tease.

Each fracture whispers secrets of the past,

where once there was a promise, strong and bright.

Yet here I sit, aware that none can last,

as darkness pools where once the sun gave light.

With every crack, I feel the echo deep,

old wounds beneath a surface, frozen tight.

The chill is just a mirror where I weep,

a reflection of the heart’s disquieted flight.