The cold wind today is howling.

Howling ever so loudly as if it cries for an entrance.

An entrance inside the small warmth that resided within me.

Its beating heart protruding frivolously to the surface.

Dear Howling wind, why are you crying?

Has someone detrude your slumber?

Or has the darkness become unbearable?

As the question linger.

So does the howling of the wind.

Waiting for the wind to howl a word.

A sentence even to dispel the quells. 

But no answer receded the inquiry.

All that is left is the howl of the wind.

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