Winter is Coming

It's cold in this my tiny room
winter is coming and will be here
very soon.
My pen scratches out these minor
warnings on this virtual page
rhymes and portents give words
to omens from the eons of the
nameless age, I rage, I rage
against the frozen moment in which
I find that I am powerless against the
arrival of my most bitter foe
nothing good can come from this
war- nothing but streams of crumpled
paper and bottomless wells of empty
woe.
Winter is coming and the rage the fuels
my innermost desire sputters against
it's arrival like the flame driven against
the gales of buffeting madness with
ashes and the vestiges of fire.
I weaken and  I chill as if I will fade
away out into the darkness of the night
will I give in as I cease to win falling away
from the dusk under the rising starlight.