Blasted, biting Cold - burning chill cracking in darkness
Scarf and hat, coat and pants, sweater - all nothing.
Lonely chilly silent waiting - for what?

Evil, elegant Cold - digging into my very skin.
Will nothing free me from incarceration?
Suddenly - a sign. A vision of grace itself, approaching.

That large shape. That bright, yellow, sign,
that telltale placement of a number, yes,
That number - the only number that has any meaning.

The bus has arrived, from the womb of darkness,
to spirit my spirit, to revive my mind.
But wait - what new pain awaits me now?

Oh, treachery! Oh, hideous torture!
From within the black mass looms a mass greater still,
the mass of countless souls pressed together, squished.

The savior has redeemed its fill,
The reaper has harvested its quota,
and leaves, but I remain.

Yes, I - still cold, still defenseless against that other beast
but, somehow - enlightened. Not angry, despite betrayal, just - aware;
aware of a truth that didn't exist before the bus left me behind.