Spring started slow that year
Or at least after the frigid winter it seemed slow.
We all waited for the sun,
Prayed it would return one day.
After what we had seen,
After the months of darkness
And the nights of plunging temperatures,
Diving into the furthest depths of Dante’s hell,
It seemed a miracle for anyone to be alive,
Nay have hope after that winter.
I don’t know what came first,
If our senses failed
And we then lost hope,
Or if the loss of our faculties
Came as a result of our resolve
Freezing over with our hearts.
Undeniably so, however,
Our eyes soon forgot what colors were.
The sleepiness of summer warmth seemed
Like a parcel of a dream,
A memory of another life
In days with more light.