The Winter Solstice
The moonlight strikes deep in the heart of the frost,
Where the hours are long, and the light feels lost.
The year reaches down to its darkest point,
Tracing the edge of a jagged, cold line.
But even the dark must bow to the dawn,
A limit is reached, and a veil is withdrawn.
For darkness, though vast, has a point where it wanes,
A rope that snaps for the morning’s own sake.
Just as the orbit returns to the flame,
Your spirit remembers its ancient name.
The resilience you thought had been buried in snow,
Is waiting for rhythm, for permission to glow.
You survived the season that tried to turn stone,
The ice in the marrow, the chill in the bone.
Now watch as the night begins to give way,
Softening fast in the light of the day.
You are not the shadow; you are what is true.
Welcoming the beginning of a year born anew
