Winter,
A dull blade frozen to touch,
It's greyscale blankets swallow our minds,
Sweet silence cutting hope short,
No bird chirps,
No leaves left unsmothered.
Then–boom! The blood begins to color the plain,
Ending her reign,
And for the first time–we're glad.
A red field marks a new day.
YOU ARE READING
Written in Class
PoetryA collection of poems all written for a class. Most of them are related to my mental health, and some of them are pure fantasy. UPDATED WEEKLY
