Weeping Ice Sickles

I'm new to this site. My 1st unrhyming poem...

Cold days frost the ground
crisp winds console weeping ice sickles,
as they and snow flakes
are silent windchimes to the soul

and somehow...
the coldest days... they are the warmest
when mixed in my cup

    milk not water
      in this hot chocolate...
        not watered down thoughts
          as I try to stay dry...

    and i think back to  days like this
  as complicated as it seems
and snowflakes come down, and melt in my eyes
and they won't stop coming
though I shovel them out...
            they won't stop coming.....