alone

by Linda M. Crate

frozen
cold and alone
it's hard
being in love with
winter's child
carrying the ache of
a romance
with a man that
never cared
even though he said
he did;
i saw all those angel's
buried beneath
the ice of him,
must have thought i'd just
lay there let him
turn my lips
blue—
don't worry i woke
up from the
magic spell
let the snow fall over me
in it's white blanket
washing me in
the sadness
of dead flowers and melancholy
a world without sun,
but being alone
is better than being with him.