The Cold Poem by Ann Miller

The cold gazes up at me
and I towards it.
Its gravity is undeniable
a suggestion at life's brevity.
And as I gaze, and as I ponder,
and as my feet do start to wander,
so the cold pulls at me,
its inky blackness swelling
as the tide.

And as I slide into the cold,
my mind does start to wonder
of what I'll find, here,
down yonder,
so more I think and ponder
until the silky cold caresses
my brow, and carries me
on in the tense of now
Forgotten thoughts and wandering
as the cold does envelope me.