Through snow I trudge
heavy of foot with boots to insulate from the cold that creeps
always its creeps….
lost imprints of foot prints
swirl away to nothingness
as I look back through the raging blizzard
I am not lost
For I am forever moving forward in the night.
towards that one star that peeks.
Wringing frigid calloused hands in gloves
never quite warm up to stave off the cold
I find these tired legs and cold hands
are a badge of honor
through a life sought to beat me down
I’m still standing
still wringing my cold hands
even they may look worn
they are strong
just as my legs are
even though ever losing the imprints
of a past I have earned in sheer exertion
of a spirit that will always burn in me.
by Philip Wardlow 2015