Paint the Snow Pink

Oh, how I love my Wise Woman. Please explore her blog, and fall in love with her, too.

A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave

There is a pain in living

For those devoured

With awareness

We are buried

Under frozen ponds

Murky muddied memories

Where wicked absconds

Desperately holding on

To waning sun

In for the long run

Exploring depth

Of clouded breath

This feeling isn’t new

Existing in pulses

Ripples and surges

Repulsive

Reflection

Of what I am

Supposed to be

Contradictory

Softness

Refuses to align with

Poison

Flowing through my veins

A sign

I don’t belong

And long for

Waves

Of heroin laced heaven

Gripping

Pulling at light

Dampening anguish

Tightly tucking relief

Into empty spaces

Entreating

Enough

To last a lifetime

I just can’t lose any more days

But raging winds rise

Despite my cries

Steals

Leaves

Summer grieves

Winter thieves

Duets sung

Too melancholy

For my warmth

Worshipping way

Hushed and holed up

Haunted by

Hail

On a tin roof

A sound that can only be

Drowned

With fear

Tainted…

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