conversations in winter

I.
god must hate me
she breathed out the thought
giving birth to its truth
and those pinprickling words
with each heavy step
but winter carried her faith
along snow capped paths
masking her way
as she wearied on
through her dead land
curious and certain
something lay further
beyond

II.
where is hope?
concern over time
though masking her way
pried open her mind
the blustering winter
molding her glacial form
flurries blistered her cheeks
something died, something torn
between her lines
sleet biting down
to her bones and her faith
bowing gracefully to pain
and though seductive at times
she still refuses the fleeting relief
from the heavy sultry heat

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