Crisp snowflakes on the windowpane
Kisses of the winters fall
Solid mirrors prove I'm not sane
until they are solidly gone
Cracks in the wood
are a perfectionists pain
Not drying the wood
So the creation breaks in time
Soft like a rock against a train
tears will never truly stain
Just like how a poets death
must never make sense towards a true rhyme
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
Crisp snowflakes on the windowpane
Kisses of the winters fall
Solid mirrors prove I'm not sane
until they are solidly gone
Cracks in the wood
are a perfectionists pain
Not drying the wood
So the creation breaks in time
Soft like a rock against a train
tears will never truly stain
Just like how a poets death
must never make sense towards a true rhyme
