Wintery winds howl,
calling a bluff.
The sky’s story turns dark,
when only halfway.
Each of my breaths,
more and more breath.
They followed in dance,
but leave me too.
To chase drifts that whistle,
and those raw gales…
God, to the bone.
The forest taunts,
I hear the scratching.
Slowing motion, I’m straight into fear,
hopeless and alone.
I beg the moon a bond.
.
Good writing
Sent from my iPhone
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