what is your truth? what have you seen when no one else was there to see? is there a lonely spot of road that's made from you or maybe me? you knew one in the wintertime when walls were painted with despair and no place that you went preferred to anywhere or everywhere what is your plot? your character? your theme? why do you linger over post, or meme, or stare at empty screens and wait for words? or dream of flight, while sealing out the birds? the lonesome road of wintertime the isolated way; the habits that are character, the token we must pay to see while we have eyes to see, and not to look away: for humankind is horrible past what mere words can say. our eyes look down, the raptors coil above: it's only love that is our hope, and all our hope must be in only love