It’s nearly the end of 2021, and while it’s technically winter, it’s been unseasonably warm here in South Carolina. Indeed, “unseasonably” is a bit of a misnomer, and it is often hot and humid on Christmas (as it was this year). I vividly remember playing football on New Year’s Day in shorts and a t-shirt.
Nevertheless, it’s winter, and January and February tend to be the coldest months here. We’ve already had quite a bit of frosty weather (though no snow, which is rare as it is, but especially rare before January), so we’re fully into the wintry hygge.
A couple of weeks ago, regular contributor Son of Sonnet (subscribe to his SubscribeStar page here) put out an invitation for fans to submit themes for some new poems. I proposed “Winter coziness“—’tis the season—and my Telegram buddy and fellow SoS fan WS responded “I was going to go dark, seasonal affective disorder.“
That led to my compromise theme: “The dualism of winter: warm coziness and dark despair.” I probably meant “duality” instead of “dualism,” but Son delivered “A Frozen Ballad,” combining the two aspects of winter into a ballad all about nostalgia, hope (and hopelessness), and trusting in God in our darkest moments.
The poem has received some positive feedback on Son’s Telegram page and on the esoteric Telegram chatroom Occam’s Razor Chat, which WS created as a space for escaping politics online, instead dedicating the chat to exploring the unusual, interesting, and supernatural.
Now, with Son’s blessing, I’d like to share “A Frozen Ballad” here:
A Frozen Ballad
for WS & Tyler
by Son of Sonnet
When I was feeling cold and blue,
I used to lie down in the snow.
I thought I’d stay forevermore,
and feel the melt of each hello.
Each flake a soft and gentle touch,
but harsher winds will one day blow.
The days are short and night is long,
and make me yearn for long ago.
But memories are funny things.
Is happiness a thing to grow?
When nothing good can be recalled,
what feelings want to overflow?
I pray for hope, then people die.
Am I just causing hurt and woe?
Still clutching hard a silver cross,
my eyes have lost their youthful glow.
The clouds are thick, the air is wet.
I lie down waiting for the snow.
Where is the place that I belong?
That’s something only God can know.