
my winter retreat was lonely
flurries turned into storms
dark skies seemed always
cold bit me every second
ice through my veins stiffened from life
sharpen gales to cut me away
I was polar from everything
sitting barren
until her voice
her light
all that warmth from beyond
chiselled me free of that void capsule
I am her sun
she is my days
Beautiful
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Stunning photo and such a wonderful piece. Does your other half read your stuff?
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Thank you for this. The picture is not mine, just seemed to fit perfectly. Sometimes when I am not 100 Ash, I think of my grandmother and it gives me the strength to pull myself out. And, sometimes…but never on a consistent basis. To be honest, rarely.
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