The cold sun streaming down

the-cold-sun-streaming-down

wrapped all around in winter wind

tears of ice upon my face

the cold sun streaming down

dresses me in flowing lace

a cry escapes upon my breath

my frosty lashes glisten

in the cold sun streaming down

there is no one there to listen

lonely is my frozen heart

alone always I stand

and the cold sun streaming down

falls pale upon my shadowed land

 

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Fragile

The connection between us
feels as fragile
as a spider’s web,
fine spun silk
that will break
under the weight
of falling autumn leaves
or drifts of winter snow
leaving me alone in the cold.
Should I stay
with this fearful uncertainty
or should I tip-toe away
feel the stretch and break
of the thread
and of my hopes?
Maybe my hopes were
always too frail
to survive
like snowflakes
that melt away
in morning sun.