The Winter King
He is this year's winter king,
A solitary sorrow, a sacrifice to spring.
A cold, hard fire, a boundless stream,
Of heedless yearning and hallowed dreams.
Ignited, she writhes in a breathless trance,
Wild and shimmering in the sacred dance.
He breaks her, blinds her, burns her sin,
Then weaves her gently beneath his skin.
Seizes a moment of her naked soul,
Carves her heart, and makes her whole.
A poem in birth, she is a fevered light,
Captured and claimed in the winter night.
© 2003 J.L. Stanley