Winter Saints Poem by Michael Brosky

Winter saints shine like asphalt stars
They scrape as dried, brown leaves in the breeze
Soft as a faraway sun upon the bare and dormant
Harsh and woeful prayers on a midnight freeze
Oh, how they have suffered; have been snubbed
Their doleful relics as Rosary beads unrubbed
The signs so prevalent over raging sea and sky
No seeking, no knocking, no asking, no reply
Winter saints with bare knees long upon cold stone
Too many have closed their eyes never to open once more
For we wish to believe in easier things, no rules
We wish for merriment tucked away from the dark fools
We have no time for the philosophy sound
Coin and swords, chunked in pagan burial ground
No light within, so we add lights about
Slashing our skins; roaring with an animal shout
Winter saints too close to Our Savior, too far from the light
For them, the grail is over the dark and lonely hills
Feasting with the crows, lost upon the meager dawn
All dressed and lacking with shadows and chills
They burnt their lives for warmth and raised their souls
Denied the precious parts for the promised wholes
They seek to be forgotten, whilst we dance in fame
They follow the Infant and give up their name
Can any hope at all be found in this stark season?
To gain the gift of faith and die to every reason?