The Chill of December

The reaching chill of brisk December
touches my impressionable soul,
leaving it barren and windswept
as the snowy fields of empty plains
desolate as a freezing hell.
Devoid of warmth - a long since dead furnace,
whom's insides miss the feel of fire
and retain a dormant memory
of flames of caring, friendship and feeling;
subconscious, yet lingering like a deep pain
healed over but still aching inside.
The haunting memory of a child's laughter
rings in the echoing cavern of my hollow mind,
each repetition transforming the pleasant yet eerie sound
to a horrible rendition of a mocking demon,
gloating over ideals lost and love tainted
through grave misunderstanding and lazy neglect.
The self-imposed loneliness eats away at me,
breaking down my prison of fortifications,
and leaving me huddled in the pouring rain,
drenched to the bone, and lost to the world.