Truth is:
I'm a man standing alone in a plain.
A cold dark empty plain.
I'm barefooted, barely dressed.
The falling snow starts to build up on my shoulders
And the darkness infects my bones.
My trembling fingers grasp the rough ground as I start to
die.
But the sun pierces through the snow clouds,
melting them along with the cold air that was tearing my lungs.
The sunlight embraces my body, dances with every feature of my face.
Fairness is born.
And the darkness dies within me.
--However--
I know the night will arrive,
And I will be frozen again.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
Truth is:
I'm a man standing alone in a plain.
A cold dark empty plain.
I'm barefooted, barely dressed.
The falling snow starts to build up on my shoulders
And the darkness infects my bones.
My trembling fingers grasp the rough ground as I start to
die.
But the sun pierces through the snow clouds,
melting them along with the cold air that was tearing my lungs.
The sunlight embraces my body, dances with every feature of my face.
Fairness is born.
And the darkness dies within me.
--However--
I know the night will arrive,
And I will be frozen again.
Request permission to use this poem