Winters coverlet falls silently to the ground
covering all unmoving objects.
Satin puffs, reflect the light from
well lit windows.
Peaceful, restful, seeing the first
snowfall.

He stays hidden, in the plants.
I will find him waiting there
with his patience; he has plenty.
He waits there, he won't roam,
for he is a most faithful
the silent garden gnome

Rant and rave; Lie if you must.
Your soul will crumble into dust.
A fitting end for someone like thee.
Leave us now for an eternity.

"Just start writing,"
He said to me.
"Let your thoughts go
and you will see,
the words coming forth,
like weeds from the ground
and jump to the paper,
for now they are found
to be unrestrained,
nothing in the way."
Writing, keep writing
until your hands cramp
and your brow becomes
annoyingly wet, as
I try to pull words
from my head or mouth,
to keep the flow coming,
by not going "South"
away from it all, if you please.
Get thee down on your knees,
pray to the Lord, not in vain,
calling forth all by their name.