The road stretches far where the wind cuts deep,
A ribbon of silence where shadows creep.
Frost paints the stones in a ghostly glow,
Each mile, a whisper of things I know.
The sky hangs heavy, a steel-gray dome,
No warmth, no welcome, no hint of home.
My breath drifts upward, a fleeting cloud,
While the world stays quiet, hushed, and proud.
Every step echoes, hollow and bare,
Carrying burdens too heavy to share.
Yet still I walk through the bitter and cold,
Chasing a dawn that refuses to unfold.
For somewhere beyond this frozen span,
A fire awaits in the heart of man.
And though the journey feels endless, slow,
Hope walks beside me on this long, cold road.
Michael J McCluskey 