a blizzard

a blizzard
of thoughts
running a range
from rage to riantly living
is not a curse
it’s a course
you find
while shoveling
the drifts
mostly manmade
the bitter cold
freezes tears


the warmth
of a fire
so enticing
yet the wind whipping
one’s face
is an embrace
from nature
the senses
that sleep
so easily


keep shoveling
though the track
is wind blown & buried
keep digging
through the facts
though the blinding whiteness
conceals contentment


pile crazes to the left
and elations to the right

satisfaction lies in the center
of this bizarre blizzard battle