The frost seeps into my finger tips
as my mind tears open and rips.
Frost lays across the top of cars
the sky is looking less angrily dark.
I search for the moon for her haunting stare
to know for a second that she looks down and cares.
I search and look but the sky lays dark
apart from the lonely northern star.
What are the skies without the moon?
A darkness that envelopes to soon.
Karen Hayward (copyright) 2015. Image and words.