Warmer patterns

As snow smothers
the color from god's lips,
and devils dance
in trees made of sticks;
The past is a drafty apartment,
no soul should linger long,
winter beats on cold glass windows,
ushering bitter sweet song.
Front door offers a creaking hand,
rays of present pooling through,
unchanged habits scream for action,
still world urges you to move.
Woven into warmer patterns,
I seek shelter.
With twigs and yarn,
I build buildings without structure.
Newborn world stands tall, proud.
I climb to the top.
Lips bleed color into heaven's lids,
nourishment rains down.
This heart is the furnace,
that keeps this house warm.
love is the fuel,
that helps it burn strong.

Dedicated to Lady Golden Eagle