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Her Frosted Winter

Her Frosted Winter

She told me she would sit each day
at her desk of cluttered dreams
and place the palm of her hand
upon her frosted office window

She might not be able to see
but she could feel the reality
that existed on the other side

It was her one belief

Within her dreams and nightmares
there lay a single thread of hope
that she prayed would lead her through
the unforgiving winter her life had become

Burdened by the weight of autumn leaves,
her heart failing with broken spirit,
each day she would place the palm
of her hand upon the frosted glass

It was a sun filled day the first time the
glass softened beneath her palm
Only for a fraction of time, but it
was so real it made her soul jump

She slept that night with not so heavy heart
as deep within her body an ember glowed
Maybe, she thought, her dreams were not those
of a woman only ever told that she would fail

In time, the push of palm became easier
and the glass felt a little softer
She could feel herself reaching towards
a new reality, a new beginning

She had watched her mother and vowed
that as clichéd as the words may sound,
she would never let happen to her,
what had happened to her mother

but her wish for a different life had disappeared
into the sharps bin of many a public toilet
where the caged black dog of their lives roamed
neither strong enough to hold its studded leash

her body cried as the weight of her winter
and the cold hard fists of silence reinforced
the reality of the dark path she walked

Yet still, a tiny ember of dream spirit lived within

Returning to the refuge of her dreams
she continued to place the palm of her hand
on frosted glass and press gently, till the day
she felt the tips of her fingers, on nothing

She drew back in fright and for a moment,
a split second, just before the soul of the
glass flowed back to be as one, she saw
the beautiful space her fingers had left behind

Each day from then she sat and placed
the palm of her hand upon this frosted glass
Each day she pushed a little further into
the warm reality that lay beyond

Leaving behind the brute, the addiction,
the bloodshot eyes and hidden bruises
it was now time to reclaim the waste of her life
and to journey into the unknown

She rang me one last time and told me that
while she may not be able to control the future
that her destiny was now hers to own

She took two steps, into the frosted glass

Her Frosted Winter

Tony Mutton

Brisbane, Australia

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