Bound by Snow and Shadows

Traveling in this boxcar, rattling through the frozen night,
my thoughts drift to the lives that have come and gone,
to the ones that will come to be,
and to the fragile connections I’ve made along the way.
Knowing some, trusting few,
for in the end, I am alone—
my life resting in these steady hands
I can only hope won’t betray me.

The moon sneaks in through the heavily frosted window,
its silver light spilling over my face like a cold caress.
It illuminates the snow that has claimed the land,
hiding it from itself, a white veil over everything.
Yet, here and there, patches of colour peek through,
tiny rebellions in this dotted landscape I once called home.

To return has entered my thoughts,
but that hope has grown thin, like the moon behind the clouds.
The path back is buried beneath layers of ice,
the warmth of familiarity sealed off
by the harshness of all that has been lost.

The bounds that tie my mind
are far stronger than the cuffs on my wrists.
These chains are made not of iron but of memories—
whispers of judgment, the sting of disdain
etched into my soul by those I once called kin.

I was caught, sentenced, and cast away
without the dignity of a personal trial,
judged by my fellow man
not for a crime but for the crime of being different.
Degraded, stripped bare,
handed over to this cold, indifferent journey
simply for the shape of my form,
for the way I am—something physically different,
yet feeling just as deeply, if not more.

The moonlight shifts, a sliver of hope,
but it’s fleeting, like a dream that dissolves at dawn.
My thoughts turn to the past,
to the places where laughter once echoed
and faces that smiled with a warmth I no longer know.
Now, I am but a shadow, a silhouette against the frosted glass,
a soul drifting through a landscape
that no longer knows my name.

Caught in the rhythm of wheels on iron,
I wonder if freedom is just another illusion,
a place where minds are free even if bodies are bound.
For I have learned that the coldest prisons
are not made of stone,
but of the hearts of those who cannot see beyond their fear.

As the boxcar carries me farther into the darkness,
the snow keeps falling,
burying the world in silence,
a blanket that smothers even the smallest cries for mercy.
Yet still, the moon finds its way through,
a pale light that reminds me
there is always something left to hold on to,
even in the darkest of nights.

Perhaps one day, I will find a way to break these chains,
to return not to a place,
but to a sense of belonging
that no boxcar or judgment can take away.
Until then, I am bound by snow and shadows,
caught between who I was and who they made me become.