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poet707747


 Icy Fingers



Winter's chill makes me shiver;
Cutting off the warmth, the compassion.
Gasping for a drink of the sun;
But the cold freezes my desire.
Like a statue, reaching upwards…
Crystals reflect light of the moon.
Feeling even more isolated in this darkness;
Winds howling, ripping through the fabrics.
Feet shuffle slowly… death's angel approaches.
Piercing with fiery red eyes without warmth;
Penetrating the emptiness of my soul.
Laughing without joy, he reaches out to me;
Welcome into the wastelands, dear wanderer.
My spine recoils from the touch, fear shrieks!
Wrapping his icy fingers tightly around my throat.

Death's slow drone of thoughtlessness;
Pouring out the warmth of my blood.
Weaker, I fade into the abyss of blackness…
Nothing can escape, nothing can escape.
Just another sacrifice of society, my blood spills;
Worthless trash is all that is left crumpled.
Death welcome me into his gates;
I see the sunlight on the horizon.
Joy rises for a moment; then Death blows out
The light like a candle… smoke and mirrors.
The game of hope is revealed…
The lie is seen in reality;
It is all one big practical joke.
The closest thing to love I feel is
Death's icy fingers tightly around my throat.

2Jan12


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