Thaw

Morning blooms, purple skies descend.
The candles burning. Burning at both ends.
I feel I am the shepherd.
Falling snow or is it frozen ash.
Steadily squalls like the dripping wax.
Looking for his sheep.
An ill faded tundra greets my sight.
My world color now hopelessly white.
I may as well be blind.
An ignorant quest I can't take any longer.
A conscious famine driven by the hunger.
A fuel for the flame.
Just to get me through this.
Call me a glutton.
But I starve for a purpose.
Hard to have direction.
In this dry sea of waste.
When there's no rose.
To guide me on my way.
Instead I stare out for a beacon.
An icon of hope to appear in the distance.
The omen, to see.
The omen, to believe.
The omen, a sign that my life has meaning.
I await and gaze
and still there's no prophecy.
Blind, finally, I behold