The brisk nip in the air,
as we trudge in the snow.
We feel an icy wind on our faces
as it pummels our bodies.
Someone else has done it.
We follow the footsteps,
a frozen trail in the snow.
Japanese Gardens – Portland, OR
The stream flows
reflecting the sun’s rays
along its smooth surface.
Follow the blue lights downstream.
Dip your toes into the cold splendor.
Life can be perfect.
The moon is distant.
The stars keep their distance.
Trees and grass retreat from sight.
The ice caps recede daily.
Soon they will be memories
of the destruction, we have wrought.
I have turned to stone.
I’m chilled to the bone.
The coldness is spreading.
Where can this be heading?
Please help me.
You can see.
I can’t even bend.
Life is at its end.
WHERE THE WIND BLOWS
The trees of the forest shiver and shake,
their long limbs trembling for the next quake.
Their bodies blaze a glaring white
with tears frozen from their new plight.
The world has become hard and cold.
My trembling body feels old.
Surrounded on four sides by white,
the bright glare has blinded my sight.
White is the color of my nightgown
as I stand and shiver with a frown.
A shadow emerges from the trees.
I hope it is not him, pretty please.
My body moves forward against my will.
I grab a thick tree and try to hold still.
I dig my feet into the packed snow,
but I must go where the wind might blow.
THE DEAD GAME SERIES