December

I feel broken by December,
‘neath the weight of life’s memory,
time’s ice grinding like emery,
milling sorrows I remember.

These cutting moments deepen me,
and I wonder if I’m now strange,
to a stout heart this pain won’t change,
desperate in December’s snow,
imprisoned by the things I know,
fading into a dream of spring.

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I wrote this poem in the form of an espinela.