In the Bleak Midwinter

Now is the season of the bleak midwinter, 
darkness and frost smile at our rest. 
Candles dripping down more like splinters. 

Do not flee it friend, it’s time to reenter 
learning now what must truly be our test. 
Now is the season of the bleak midwinter. 

There is a burning like that of the cinders 
feel it beating out of your concave chest. 
Allow it, give it permission, do not hinder. 

Shame, in its loud quiet, calls you a sinner. 
Is there now a remedy to suggest? 
Now is the season of the bleak midwinter. 

Overcoming a moment, surviving seconds to win. 
Now give me this, a small humble request. 
I’m at the end now, a restarted beginner. 

Given all I can, gaunt and grossly thinner, 
how I so long now to not be depressed. 
Now is the season of the bleak midwinter. 

I am already dead, there is nothing left to injure.