People tend
To celebrate the day when Jesus came,
It's the same day of my pain.
Colorful lights and sugar coated words
The night were never been old.
But all beyond those physical senses
and my stormy head --
lies the dark room and silence of grief and cold.
On one icy Christmas night
I received the most precious gift.
With the hissing sound of trees,
With the wind caressing my skin,
With the cold tears from my eyes,
They witnessed how the glass broke.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
People tend
To celebrate the day when Jesus came,
It's the same day of my pain.
Colorful lights and sugar coated words
The night were never been old.
But all beyond those physical senses
and my stormy head --
lies the dark room and silence of grief and cold.
On one icy Christmas night
I received the most precious gift.
With the hissing sound of trees,
With the wind caressing my skin,
With the cold tears from my eyes,
They witnessed how the glass broke.
From my random thoughts.
