The anger closes in,
Like a thick blanket,
Ten degrees too thick.

My worldview is narrowed,
The blanket weighs me down.
Heat is rising at a rapid pace,
And my thoughts become colder.

The blanket is now
chaining me down,
And I feel useless.
I want to help another,
But I cannot help their case.
It violently tears me open
To be unable to help them.
And as I think further,
The blanket grows thicker,
And tighter.

A dulling gold plain
split into many pieces
by the high tide water.
The water flows steadily,
a rather small motion
that breaks the illusion
of stagnant salty ice.

the concrete bridge
stands like a gravestone;
marking the time of old,
and barely intact
to see the present hour.

The unfiltered sun
shines ever so brightly,
as if a golden amber blanket
is lain caringly upon
this dead winter marsh,

giving it light,
giving it life.

the ashen flower
continues to grow on
after the demon's power
destroyed the world we thrived upon,
but more flowers will rise anon.