Thursday, July 31, 2014

More Poetry

The Winter of My Discontent
The snow falls cold and deadly,
on a mountaintop so still,
could the beauty of the world,
a desperate child's heart fill?
walking through the forest,
a chill is in the air,
the world has left you all alone,
it doesn't seem quite fair,
stumble 'cross the icy lake,
trying not to fall,
wondering if you are missed,
or cared about at all.
finally, up the mountain,
the hardest part of all,
admitting you aren't strong,
and letting yourself fall. 

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