They're the same, in some ways,
With piercing eyes of green that strike me still in wonder.
He stares down from his throne at those who have built up his walls
While she looks past the aisles, capturing me in the winter of her eyes.
The frost in their eyes isn't complete.
Like the white that eats at the edges of the leaves
During the coming dawn and approaching night,
There's something there, brittle and worn
That they hide behind clear ice.
I want to know you,
Lean in close to see the fractured light of your soul
As it slips through the dark cracks of your eyes.
I wish to know how much of the green has survived the frost,
To breathe warmth onto that which you have left frigid
And that others refuse to let thaw.
YOU ARE READING
Life Will Bloom in Our Shadows
PoesíaThese poems that will accompany you far beyond the end of this book are stories of human connections, bonds that slip through our fingers like silk ribbons or stretch out from us as vast and as eternal as the starlit sky. Third place in the Winter R...
