Lost for words, lost in thought, waiting for it to coalesce 
Watching birds fly from the fields to feed their chicks high in the nest,
There’s a numbing wind that blows and permeates my mind,
Struck dumb by its chill fingers, that leave my eyes dull and blind, 
Balanced on the edge of nothing, impervious to the drop,
Watching winter fields thaw in prospect of the crop,
Drizzle rain across my face that I might feel alive,
Let the cold drops slap my skull and help it to revive, 
Perhaps the pain of winter rain might wake me from this slumber,
Numb day after numb days stretch out too far to number,
Until every passing moment is both grinding and acute, 
And rather than relate this, I set my thoughts to, “Mute.”
But just beneath this frosted skin run fierce rivers of boiling ire,
I just need to crack the crust and dive into the raging fire, 
And the sharp sting of searing heat might lift me from this mire,
And unseal my frozen mouth, if I but sit upon the pyre.