COLD PROMISES

the winter depths of despair
led me to inevitable contemplation
on the ancient art of ending
such a miserable existence
razors or pills?
tall buildings or deep water?
it really didn't matter
because all led back to the fact
that mind-bending misery aside
i was a coward
so i drank and i cried
and i wrote and i sat
wishing for a swift natural end
while contemplating the colorless void
of an unrelenting january sky
the diluted yellow light
of an empty sun held faint promise
for the stirring of my heart
buried as cold and deep
as the slumbering crocus
under a rigid blanket of ice and snow
both waiting for nothing more
than the warm touch held
in the promise of spring.

By Nancy Sirianni

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