Okay, so I just wrote this one last night, so I don't know how good it is yet.

PAGES

Pages and pages
of hills and valleys
rubber stamps of black and blue
beat me till it comes true.
There is gnashing and wailing
on the other side
of these baron walls
so where do I stake a claim?
Peace
or reverence
to abundance?
Always a terrible time of year
When winter finally hits you
like a wrecking ball to the belly
and snow settles like stone
glaciers grace your gate
so you wait
to be wiped from the slate
and warm your bones
with charcoal
sketches
pages and pages
of black-balled smudges
while time barely budges.