This is a response to Jun Tingo's challenge to post, for him, or anyone else who would care to participate, a written poem that he'll then create the visuals for. It is not one that I just penned, but rather, it is one that I've had a desire to create visuals for, myself. So, without further ado . . .



The inner voice hears
what you think it does not-
wind whispers truth, destroy is the plot!

IT MATTERS NOT

H o w cold
H o w brutal
Or brittle

Faltered assessment tends to mean very little.

Below freezing force, chilling frail bones-
cold burning lungs lay crying alone.

Benumbed by the blast, such a frigid disturbance-
blue in the face from feigning forbearance.

Wound in the whirlwind of cold-hearted prattle-
storm clouds arise, we’re forced into battle.

Withered and broken by ruinous cold snap,
Rendered quite useless-

A byword
A joke

A nocuous mishap

Who will survive this tumultuous fray?
Deafening winds threaten, as awakes a new day

Gripped by the fear of cold’s burst on the morrow,

Destined to break beneath the weight of such sorrow.

Will they spew their venom tomorrow…