Snow,
The feared yet loved feather of the winter bird; not blue, but white; as they say, angel wings and the heavens at which they live in.
Such a light, dear thing to me; as all of my dreams were blanketed with flakes of icy wisps and swirls.
A kiss that winter may lay upon us, forgiving the rain when it washes away the love.
A crisp morning of winter will get me breathing a sigh of relief; for now what is to come is finally near.
All above will be shrouds of ice; with each one is a life on earth that has been given a second chance.
Winter kisses to you, my dears~
YOU ARE READING
Poems by Someone With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (PTSD.)
PoetryPoems are by me. Inside this interweb book is an abundance of fear, pain, anger, depression, and emptiness. It is not much, it may not be anything, but it is who I am. You may get to know me, if you really try. Even so, you may read if you'd like. S...
