In winter’s depth,
I walked broken streets.
Empty pockets.
Head full of hissing demons.
Whiskey for warmth.
Neon nights for company.
Underneath the frost
and frozen hearts.
Underneath the loneliness
in shadowed rooms.
Something small, powerful—
a dim pulse, barely there, but consistent.
A heat without a name.
And these days?
Well, I’m out of that dead life,
those graveyard days.
Fairways full of miracles.
Cats chirping, fat as spring robins,
happy as I watch and write
lines that sing of a new life.
An invincible summer lives in me,
stubborn, potent.
December lingers forever,
but underneath it all—I’m on fire.
A want worth more than
all the treasure buried beneath the sea.








Powerfully penned, Thomas. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, my friend.
Thomas this spoke to me of a man who found the summer within after a long lifetime in winter. Really loved where this took me as I read. Truly fine work.
John
Thanks, John. Much appreciated.
This is great work
Regards
James
Much appreciated.