Through my window
I look out,
Like one of the dead;

In the winter fever,
Such a mad profusion
Of pinwheel flakes,
Confetti the air,
Like milkweed fluff,
Cascade and crash
On glass and stone;

Ideas wildly inflamed,
Roar through my brain,
Drown my hollow hopes;

Lost in the mad whirl
Of the senseless snow,
I can find no escape,
From my swirling senses;

My foolish thoughts,
Explode
Without sound
In the silent night.

itsjustme