TRYING TO OPEN THE GATE.

It’s cold,
So cold
I believe there’s steam rising from my eye balls,
And wet walls
Are forcing
The gate to swell and it’s hard to tell the difference
Between the clean
Lines of frost
On the copper coloured paint and the cracks
Scratched into
It this winter.

And since
I’ve got to wince
In order to force my vision to fulfil its mission
It’s harder
To see the yard
Than it once was and i think I’ve lost the will to live
Or at least
The latch key
To the gate that swings on damaged hinges
And leads
To freedom.

But maybe
Once the days
Have stretched their aching legs a little longer
They’ll be done
With the damp,
And the demands of trammels will be a mere memory
Of defeat
Shivering
In the frigid wind that hindered my progression
And almost made
My sight change.