The breath-taking colors of death
float to the ground with the breeze
littering the earth with the promise
that the world is soon to die
skeletons of who we used to be
so much alike the trees
when the forest is turned
into a graveyard
the icy wind blows in
and mimics that of my frozen heart
the snow drifts are higher
inside of my chest
than along the roads
spring awakens souls
and colors burst protesting
they were never truly dead
but still I stand with
winter in my veins
and the colors of death
under my skin
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
The breath-taking colors of death
float to the ground with the breeze
littering the earth with the promise
that the world is soon to die
skeletons of who we used to be
so much alike the trees
when the forest is turned
into a graveyard
the icy wind blows in
and mimics that of my frozen heart
the snow drifts are higher
inside of my chest
than along the roads
spring awakens souls
and colors burst protesting
they were never truly dead
but still I stand with
winter in my veins
and the colors of death
under my skin