Introducing The Next Generation Of Leaders And Thinkers

When Winter Comes

Rising tensions around the globe, in conjunction with worryingly lax treatment of nuclear warfare by the U.S. President, has led to a re-excitement of Cold War-era fear and anticipation. This has been a major source of anxiety for many people, myself included. Thus, the poem explores these apocalyptic ideas as a way to elaborate on this sense of impending demise, and potentially warn against the leisure with which some discuss this issue.


When Winter comes there will not be a street on which to march

The light will fade from city sights as life will leave this Earth.


When rushed response by mindless slugs sets forth the end of days

Ironic ramblings wrought with righteous truth receive but just dismay


When wicked wiles of wilted dreamers drip through rusted grates

Art becomes corroded dust concealed by ancient wake


When sparrows weep on vacant trees the scourge will make its mark

For hunger pangs strike hardest when you’re proving your own worth


When wretchedness and willfulness align in needless night

Intense lament for peaceful days will die beside your might


When sweet embrace means more to you than loving ever will

Nuanced violence rises to replace your silent wait


When whirring rockets race above the luscious dawn of morn

Freedom finds its filthy head aghast, detached, and shorn


When snowfall fraught with fervent ash sheathes jagged aftermaths

You wandering blights alight with rage may bleed on rotting past


When Winter comes catastrophe will feel like daily strife

When Winter comes your apathy will be the killing knife

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