Black Winter Day

Still searching for my way,the right way to be

still pondering what I've done

I'm still thinking what I've said,still finding from within

and all that I know is still not enough

I'm being held by the one

shadow tormenting my soul

the curving neck of a swan

the slow turning of a birds head

So white its plumes and feathers

its breast like the moon in water

silent and tranquil it moves

on the river in the calm

I wander back on familiar roads

I sense the marks I left on the hills

I see the cuts and wounds of my deeds

they make me muse on life

Up the hill and the mountain

I look back,I look down

there flows the River of Death

and here the wind in my hair