Now the snow just as might lay   cloaking all the remains   shrouding of all the wounds   and sores   of losses and fatigue   with pure, white   amnesia      The shrieking ruin   of a hard winter's kiss   takes forever more summers   to mend   Rather it lay cold and dead   than revealed in all   it's necrotic splendour      In days of revolt   I too would carry a torch   and swing at my arrows   But time is ruthless   and heals nothing      For the sun uncovers   by it's taunting rays   are like swords to lies   life and dreams,   however nightmarish   (are built upon)