The children of the snow,
their own names they don't know.
Born with a clean slate,
with no written fate.
Without a name,
they're all the same,
each one of them blends,
the blank never ends.
Nothing in sight,
only pure white,
in their lives lost and frozen,
a curse none had chosen.
Never feeling the sun's rays,
through cold and bleak shortened days.
Pale as paper their skin,
ice reaching within.
YOU ARE READING
my poems
PoetryEach of my poems are their own entity, shaded in different hues and personalities. They are empathetic with many universal themes.
