They say winter is harsh and unforgiving. Cold tendrils of air seep through the cracks of your blanket, invade the walls of your house. Day after day, the sky grows weary and tired of holding the sun up. The winter presses on, and creatures cower in fear, hiding away in their dens until the season ceases.
But the coming of winter is the coming of my soul. I exit my door with a tired heart and damaged mind, and the winter air surges at me, taking me whole into is broken arms. The welcoming smell of burnt air, crisp and frigid, and the grass is frozen. Winter tears fall from the sky in crystal flakes, so rejected that its pain turns to ice. A season so hated, it grows colder and harsher with every passing year, and its heart wilting from those who spurn it. But my eyes close and my fingers grasp at the air, which slips away as I close them. Because I will love you, cold and miserable winter, even if no one else will.
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My Poetry
PoetryI try to arrange my poetry from my better stuff to my suckier stuff but sometimes I get lazy so probably not all of them are arranged properly. A lot of these are poetry assignments to write a bunch of different types or forms of poetry or do someth...
