A Hammered Nail

Sparkling snow is no warmer than dulled,

freezing air remains pervading the space.

Time rushes, because no heat can linger,

my blood runs cold, in each and every finger.

Its chilly tendrils retracting in protest,

feebly stuttering, weakly scrabbling

reduced to a quieted wail,

Unable to feel even a hammered nail.

Pierces through the iced skin surface

yet nothing flows out because space is frozen;

And nothing moves, the biting cold-

Oh, it lines my face, and now I am old.

The time has disappeared, and now it is late.

The sun still sits, sparkling the snow

Bluntly shining, it dulls my green eyes,

Space never disappears, while simultaneously time dies.