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Poetry

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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Written By

Emma is a 15-year-old trans writer and illustrator from Edgewood, Maryland. She writes for her school's literary magazine and does art on commission. Much of her work is aimed towards pushing forth the message of social justice and ensuring equality and understanding for all people. She also very much enjoys cats.

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