I cannot discern the precise moment that it happened
But somewhere beneath the folds of winter’s embrace,
My heart succumbed to a slow and furtive thaw…..
Was it by design?
I find myself a prisoner of futile contemplation as of late.
It seems that there is an inexplicable science
Fueling this curious and damnable fire within.
The dreamer wants that which is not to be
While the warrior delivers blow after blow,
Valiantly defending the fortress of dispassion.
©️ 2018 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
Photo by paul morris on Unsplash
