The miners work day in and day out
Picking their world of resource throughout

Examine and dig, examine and dig
Becoming a pattern as they no longer live
Examine and dig, examine and dig
Looking for necessities the world no longer gives

Stiff and swollen their hands will ache
Begging for mercy as they're verging a break

Examine and dig, examine and dig
Finding desolation as they no longer live
Examine and dig, examine and dig
Destroying the world that was once so big

I can't see winter as beautiful

Within the winter months, the sky turns gray without any remorse. Almost as if it were being overtaken by an outside source of power.
The once beautiful blue sky is no more. The sun, that usually stays consistent, is almost unwilling to peek through the damped gray curtain.

Like it doesn't want to witness what is happening to the beautiful world it's created.

The strongest trees grow bare. Their outstretched limbs snapping and breaking trying to exist. Instead of holding their budding beautiful leaves, they must withstand the heaviness of winter.
A glaze of frost and ice cover them, and they are no longer flourishing. They're forced into a kind of remission, waiting for the beauty to return.

The ground is frozen. With every step hard and dense, with an echoing crunching sound. Animals no longer scurry about, or sing in the trees. Leaving a loud stillness engulfing the once lively land.

Snow will fall and soon cover what is left. Covering our eyes to what has happened. The plants are dying, and our beauty is dwindling. Forced to retreat into our fortresses and force the feeling of discomfort when we go outside. A feeling that otherwise is a feeling of excitement.

I can't see winter a beautiful.

It starts very slowly
As slow as the snow that first falls on the top of a mountain

The snow keeps falling
slowly

Each flake of pureness falls and becomes still
sitting
waiting

One single speck of snow that falls on the sondering pile
becomes a burden

Everything breaks

Silence breaks and the sounds of crashing and crackling of sticks and twigs. The trees are taken away by the still pure beauty of mother nature. The silent snow and all of it's stillness becomes a ravishing and destructive force in the matter of seconds

Nothing stays still
Nothing stays beautiful

My head ******* aches with all of the thoughts I meant to say bouncing around from skull to skull and bone to bone and my nerves are shot
my stomach growls because it's begging for life

and i am choosing to ignore everything

In the woods I trail to see,
Sticks and moss and covered trees

Still and silent, I hear the wind
The grass doesn't move, the trees don't grin

Covering where they used to shade,
The leaves lay still at their grave

I wander deeper and start to run,
In search of warmth, a rising run

Still and silent, I hear the wind
The grass doesn't move, the trees don't grin

Clouds roll slowly overhead,
Keeping sunlight from being shed

I spot a cave and start to explore,
As the rain beings to pour

Still and silent, I hear the wind
The grass doesn't move, the trees don't grin

I feel the warmth inside the cave,
Protecting me from nature's rage

I find the comfort to rest my wears
Until I feel that I can bear

Still and silent, I hear the wind
With dancing grass and trees that grin

Birds are perched on each little one,
Singing to welcome the emerging sun

I am as dead as the first leaves that fell when the temperature started dropping
I sit at the bottom of the pile under the hundreds of others that are just like me
I am damp and discolored
Just like everyone else
Except I hold the weight of them all
And noticed the least

Everyone grabs a hold of me all at once
Each hand is pulling on my bones
and clawing at my skin
Digging their nails deeper as I make my way in a particular direction

I feel the rough texture of the hands
I feel it at all times of day

I feel it when I go outside
I feel it when I wake up
I feel it when I sleep
I feel it when I eat
I feel it always

I'm never without the hands
clawing at my existence
Dragging me in all of the directions I could go
but never leading me to a place I want to be

Sometimes they lead me to my bedroom
Decorated in all my artwork
They sit me down so I have a clear view of my creativity
I see the hard work and motivation I had
But I never feel any spark

Sometimes they lead me to my kitchen
and I will look at all the food my body needs
They pick out the foods that I desire the most
But then I get lead into the bathroom
and they kneel me on the cold tile floor
with my own hands propping my head above the toilet

Often they lead me to school
To classes that I listen in
that all have the same white walls
and same tile floor
and I hear all of the teachers saying the same kinds of things
That we must prepare for our future
You must apply for colleges
We have to prepare you for college
Your future is now
Everything is important
You need to do this
Without this you won't be successful
my stomach gets sick my hands shiver with anxiety

I lastly will get lead into my living room
To a familiar chair that has a soft feeling of home
I notice a stack of pictures and polaroids
slightly tanned from age
of the memories I've forgotten about
and I see my dad
I see him smiling while he's holding my brother as an infant
A grin so full of happiness that you would never think it could fade
Then I get pulled to his house
I see him standing there
He's thin and gray
and his smile has faded
I don't get the soft, home feeling
Because this isn't home