Dead bough now weighted with white birth from skyward downward, round its girth. Gray shadows long and quickly gone, as ice embeds her prickly song. In January, season without end that goes full nights and never ends, for that is when the heart does hide and regroup tender where health resides. This word of light beneath our skin, hides its angel from deaths sin, in January time, those cloves of cold that seek and hunt the middle road, and just like sages told distant past, ready your newness while still dead. The light of coals no debtor feeds, for you have paid them while you sleep, in January now, you feel the heat, while worlds around you cannot sleep. In time you rest beneath the snow, you will arise a better soul, and then your target true at last, in spring and warmth fight invaders back. A new world coming, surrendered deep, within the earth, there it keeps, in January!
Now fallen Seraphim from the sky that sweeps the tundra, their pain filled cries, and icy talons from winters grasp, look for the slave that’s in their path. They howl of deaths inviting tears, frozen it seems like every year, in January, now, all festive past they look for gifts to meet their masters task. So bend your hearts beneath their roots, and choose your battles for after you’re new, hold your bough beneath the cold, your song for a new world will still be told, but not in January!
You need not prophets to hold you dear, or love’s pure wisdom to bring you cheer, just wait and hide your own design, for in spring’s future it births divine. In January, hold and bend cold clear, and wait with patience to hear all’s clear. – 01.01.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל