In White Passings

All that plagues
the white winter grounds
red with a pulse,
Death's crow
weighs on the branches
of bleeding evergreen
burning, one hundred and three degrees.

The milky whites
laced with blue
stare into thee mirrored
soul, 
an electric lady
dances through
visions of
life time stars,

Winds o' winter's rage
bountiful bodies 
kept fresh
in unmarked 
snow covered graves,
all but thoughtful fill
for the vast bleached desert.

Wearing beasts
on fragile minds
write poetry 
with plumes of breath
that carry messaged instruments
in air
signed, sealed, death.

Out there,
you'll never see 
a bullet 
nor arrow untrue,
come whispering through winds
shouting justice,
stained frozen grounds
but not soul soil of earth
go fourth from tundra land
like new fallen snow before......

With intentions, other than your own.