The Seed in Winter's Fist

The world is grey, a canvas scrubbed of light,
A muted symphony of frozen ground,
Where every breath hangs heavy in the night,
And solace is a whisper, barely sound.
The trees stand stark, like skeletal remains,
Their branches etched against a leaden sky,
A testament to loss, to piercing pains,
And dreams that withered, left alone to die.
The wind, a mournful dirge, it chills the bone,
A constant echo of what used to be,
A landscape stripped, where hope is overthrown,
And shadows dance in cruel mockery.
I walk this path, my heart a heavy stone,
And question if I'll ever truly be…

…Free from this weight, this suffocating dread,
This icy grip that holds my spirit fast,
A prisoner of thoughts inside my head,
A future blurred, a shadow from the past.
But deep beneath, where frost has carved its mark,
A secret stirs, a promise yet untold,
A tiny seed, within the frozen dark,
A story waiting to unfold.
It holds the memory of summer's grace,
The warmth of sun, the gentle falling rain,
A vibrant life, in this forsaken place,
A future bloom to rise and live again.
It doesn't scream, or battle with despair,
It simply waits, with quiet, patient care.

It knows the seasons turn, the ice will thaw,
The earth will soften, welcoming the sun,
And in that moment, defying every law,
A new beginning will have just begun.
And so I watch, this silent, hidden fight,
The fragile hope against the winter's might,
A tiny spark, that burns with inner light,
A beacon in the overwhelming night.
It teaches me that even when all seems lost,
And darkness reigns, a seed of hope remains,
A quiet strength, whatever the cost,
To weather storms and rise above the pains.
To trust the process, even when unseen,
And know that spring will follow, ever green.

Though doubt may linger, whispering its lies,
And fear attempts to steal my inner peace,
I cling to hope, reflected in my eyes,
A silent prayer for solace and release.
I picture blooms, a tapestry of hues,
The vibrant colors that the spring will bring,
A gentle breeze, that dries away the dews,
And birdsong filling air, as robins sing.
I feel a shift, a subtle warming trend,
A whisper of renewal in the air,
A knowing that this darkness has an end,
And beauty will emerge beyond compare.
So let the winter rage, let shadows fall,
The seed of hope will answer freedom's call.

It waits, it dreams, it gathers all its might,
A tiny warrior against the frozen land,
A symbol of resilience, shining bright,
A future held within its patient hand.
And I, like that small seed, will persevere,
Embrace the darkness, knowing it won't last,
Allow my inner strength to conquer fear,
And rise again, when winter's grip is past.
For even in the deepest, darkest night,
A flicker of hope can ignite,
A burning ember, shining ever bright,
Guiding me towards the morning light.
So I will wait, and watch, and learn to trust,
The silent power of the seed, from dust to must.