Winte´s fall

Winter's Fall

It happened early on a fateful day
under the absent sun of winter,
when nothing was the king of reign,
and the walk was on paths of err.

A constant drip of watery ice fell
on the tepid path from above my head,
and all that may have been well,
came on instant fate, like hit by death.

Torn apart at once, body and soul,
in torment lay atop the frigid ground.
A sudden wish to die, a bloody mound

of veins and bone and pain afoul,
the end of an unhappy end of past,
life and mourn and earned rest at last.