Snowball Fight

 

silence of winter’s cold broken by

ice cycles crashing thunderous to ground under

freshly minted snow. isolated freeze—a place

for soul as snowballs pound away

at walls, protection

 

sting of compacted snow—child’s play. taste of rusting

steel filling hallows of veins. wasteland

of soul, filled with tears as blackness of snow

coats the lucidly of mind. no color to behold

 

this is the war

 

whored-out words solidifing the isolation

of fight. lacerated scars mark battle, pounding

of my heart—the song of a warrior’s drum, retreat

into the warmth of swirling hot

chocolate with a floating marshmallow placed by this little boy’s mother

 

wake, move one foot at a time, frozen, unable to move, no help in sight. hit

 

flurries pelted from across the steel-blue

haze of battlefield. floating cotton settling

to the bottom of oozing tar traveling

through bruised veins like embers

 

half alive fully dead

 

mind too numb for tears

arms too heavy to complain

buried in trampled snow

frostbit glimpse of sobriety

 

falling snow

 

rising up telling myself for the last time, tossing snowballs

with precision, powder splashing

the white tundra, lingering close looking for weakness

caught off-guard in winter glaze, stinging snowballs

like boulders on my chest. hard to breathe

lungs filled with lead, caught in the combat of fun

 

this game might take my life