Elysian

The Shattering Cold.

the layers of feathers stop the cold from getting through,
they huddle and hide and not fly at night,
are called birds that sore high in the ultimate sky.

i wish i could cover myself from the bitting cold
the coldness of their words..

i wish i could huddle and hide from the cold,
the coldness of their actions.

i wish i could sore as high, as high as the birds went ... against the winds and away from the sounds from below,
the sound of the discouraging yells saying
" don't sore so high, you will eventually fall and die."
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i wish i had listened to those yells, they could have saved my life. Because I did fall but didn't die.
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i fell from the heaven and blessed this cruel world with my presence.
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Love
FBR