Again

I dreamed again, but never died; I never slept, yet still I dreamed awake: I saw you there, alone and scarred. The lamp shone down on you. You wiped a tear away. The snow was falling, but melting too. The large flakes fluttered in the electric glow, casting shadows in their descent. Their little silhouettes streaked across your face. I thought I saw you again, somehow. I saw your scars. You were standing by the lamp, the night was deep, and the snow was all melting and falling. Can I not go to you and stand within the light again? This dream, if it be dream, is like the snow: it does not stay. Please, please, please, return with me, or let me stay. You turn your face; you hide the scars; the lamp goes out. I’m left alone—I cannot see the snow without the light, but still the cold eats through my flesh into my bone. A dream over as it began, and like the snowflakes all around, no sign remains. My silent winter of muted mournful moans still haunts my life. Within myself is winter’s cruelty, and no summer’s sun brings warmth. Here ends all hope.