The Traveller

He had been facing icy winds
For hours, just as time stood still;
He had survived the blizzard’s cuts
Thus far—and now he had no will. ǀ Fine

The sea of snow, a deadly white,
Seemed endless as he looked around;
The sky—unseen, covered in clouds,
The ground – below, not to be found.

The howling winds, the howling wolves:
Both enemies of life they were.
No way to go or to escape,
His future: still to guess—unknown.

Defeated, tired, he gave up
And laid back in the bed of cold.
Wanting to rest a little just,
He thought of what this would unfold.

He was aware that with closed eyes,
The sleep of death would surely come.
And yet sweet dreams would wait beyond
And no more pain—all would be gone.

His eyelids fluttered one last time,
As sleep began to lower them.
All would soon end, as death arrived,
And he could hear the requiem.

He smiled as he death embraced
And travelled to the world of dreams.
His heart stood still, engulfed in ice,
As snow covered his final fears.

As he stood still, time now began
To slowly pass, while winter stayed,
And snowflakes covered every trace
Creating, thus, his hidden grave.

Another came, wanting to face
White deserts and his sealed fate,
Adventuring in deadly lands
Until it soon would be too late.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia