Real life is Life beyond mere 'Accident'

A 7-month long winter and my poor soul is all icicles despairing of spring’s arrival. Hope, I’m afraid is not merely buried beneath a cloak of snow but so too is its young, who would normally brighten these days of dark cold. Frostbitten toes have greatly reduced the amount of ground I once would have covered. Each step I take it seems bears witness to the presence of black ice. The tears I choose not to cry sound like hail beating off my well-worn heart. Certainty is a sign obscured by snow squalls that intermittently prove the futility of thinking with any real purpose. I feel like a man wearing the hangman’s rope yet death evades me, as the noose is not tight enough to extinguish life, simply strong enough to keep me suspended between heaven and earth in a state resembling life. When will the sentence be lifted, the prisoner allowed to go free? Is winter to increase its share of the stock and my poor soul to find itself bought out? Only the Sundial will tell. How I wish it would tell.