Footsteps in the Snow

Footsteps in the Snow

No wind, no sound, just ice and white

A single trail beneath the night

No turning back, no scattered tread

Just careful steps like they were led

I followed slow, the path was straight

Each mark still fresh, deliberate weight

No birds, no tracks of fox or hare

Just snow, and me, and something there

The trees were bare, their branches black

The path moved deep, it didn’t slack

No cottage light, no chimney glow

Just sinking prints in silent snow

One set of steps, no drag, no leap

As if the snow had learned to creep

Each print the same, the distance tight

Too neat, too clean, too carved in spite

My breath came short, the cold was sharp

The frost clung fast to every part

I called once out, my voice went thin

The hush that came was crawling skin

The trail turned once, then dipped below

Into a dip the trees don’t show

I stood and stared, then made my way

With nothing else to light the day

I reached the end, the steps were gone

No shape, no sign of moving on

No trace of life, no final breath,

Just stillness heavier than death,

The snow held secrets none could break—

A silent path I will not further take.