The Warmth Inside
It's cold out here,
as I stand staring through the window
with the image of the hearth-glow
deepening my anxiety and need for warmth.
I can only be, as I stand in the snow,
the proud man, that wants to do what's right
but can't see the opportunity
that unfolds before him.
But someone passes; a shadowy movement.
It is the mistress of the home;
captured is her beauty, radiant by the fire.
She turns. I quickly hide, but again I peek.
Hoping for a glance and invitation,
another shadow appears. Quiet!
The shadow lurks; something different.
Something raised! And, then my heart stops!
What? Why? The face turns from the fire.
Horrifying! The face of death is me!
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