You can see her in the air.
It's early still but she's there.
The Winter and all her simple glory. She glides across the patrons' skin
like smooth silk caressing every cell
with a gentle kiss.
She slips between the crevices like
water, cleansing the dirt and grim
from those hard to reach places.
I see her and I watch.
I watch
from the supermarket parking lot as she works her magic
on the people, the leaves, the cars, and the trees.
I watch as she pours her soul into the very air that we breath.
She's so kind.
She adds a healthy pink glow to the body
I watch her as she breathily massages the shoulder of every living thing I see,
painting them with peace;
everything that is,
except me.
She glides through me as if I am simply not here.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Waiting by the fire
You dry your hair
Hoping for tomorrow
Hoping for air
Crinkling you toes
Life's not too fair
But you still wait by the fire
Drying your hair
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Born into this world drenched with crimson stains, we all struggle a little bit with oxygenating our veins.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC