Sabrina Dorfmann

Strange forces surround me,
Whip at my face
without any grace,
ignoring my plea.

The howls transform,
a while after,
into the sinister laughter
of a dark storm.

Slowly faces emerge
with blazing eyes
under the guise
of a scourge.

Claws reach for me;
each nail speaks,
“I’ll prick your cheeks,”
with much glee.

Their icy breath sends chills
to my skin and bones,
causing many moans
and into the silence it fills.

The wind gypsies, you see,
destroy any man.
How gruesome can
winter wind be?