That cold nectar of the night.
That magical transformation.
I sit as the midnight blossums into morning and the cold heart of winter pumps emphatically with warmth at dawn..
Brisk thoughts cascade like the snow
The dreaming sadness of the night permiates in my soul.
Broken yet unscathed,
Open yet unused.
In love and at war.
She so feared love.
For it has been used like a weapon against her.
A goudy blade of adolescence.
The wounds, still festering with
Insecurities and wise, understandable apprehension. She is weathered, independent and strong nonetheless.
I want nothing more to blanket her from the coldness of night.
But as is the world does turn; so does the sun shine brightly.
She doesnt need me.
I should be happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment