Calm the storm, a stillness brought on by calm and a tranquil presence, not as such stuck in the mud hole, frozen in place, cold demeanor. Too dark down there, that it's reasonable to not follow inside.
Of flakes that fall like snow but tastes of bitterness, and sinks through the skin. Then, as the eyes open, there is no light but a familiar cold bitterness as the greeting. No longer able to even see what these prickles of cold and bitterness are like pins.
Is the skin roughened then or just numb. I know what lives under that skin. Wonder how far the cold reaches, though I know, I'm still alive and a flame still alive. The wick of candlelight not frozen over by the storm.
Believe it or not, that candle can blaze alive again and it taking over, controlling storms that rage. Because inside that heart of a flame, is something alive, more so than a confused storm lost in time, acting rampant, without a heart and no lead.
(This is a bit... fantasy-like I suppose but it is a bit of a mix of things and meanings)