Sitting at last, free, under the winter night,
The air is a dry, crispy, sweet bowl of warm delight.
In a glass door as I enter a building,
I delicately observe myself in the mirror;
sometimes, wearing a smile;
sometimes, bearing a frown;
other times, completely seeing past myself, pensive.Gazing out a closed glass window,
Full of haze but soon to be opened.
To perpetually bask in the blanket of snow,
floating – everlastingly – in those white fields
is my desire. What a dreary life!Perhaps hope is lost in the winding paths of the woods?
Gone from the Pandora's box?
Does anyone ever understand?
A body made of glass; it shattered.
s e
c r d
a e fragment.
t tOh, a simple leap beyond this glassy threshold!
Execrating this abounding wretched pain;
solitude, silence,
Eternal solace...Despite the desolate, delusional snowy white,
a scent of warmth surrounds me,
waking up feeling at peace,
An everlasting black hole.__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
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✧. ┊ add this book to your library if you enjoyed this poem ;)

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Raindrops of Reality - [poetry]
PoetryI'm fine. But what does it mean? A phrase said for years but usually meaning a lie. A settlement for how something could be? Or a false testimony for the way that I'm feeling? Raindrops of Reality is a personal collection of poems, with the will to...