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In the chilly cold air
of the starless dark night,
I rub my hands for warmth
and think,
oh how alone I am in this sad world.
Walking forward,
frosty grass rustling underneath my feet
I search for a source of warmth,
a beacon of light and sound,
a comfort of love and home,
but all that is left for me is
the Trail of Tears leading to
the ends of the earth,
where everyone I knew had
walked off a long time ago.
YOU ARE READING
Silver Dance of Poetry
PoetryHere lies a genre of emotions a sad, twisted emphasis on time something about finding people (yourself) and letting your soul fly free. I hope every word lingers in your mind.
