flurries of white, swirling, spinning,
they are a kiss of death, a caress
of cold, an aged embrace too old,
each fractal crystal with stories untold.
the ninth circle of cocytus,
a glacier of frozen souls,
lying there with a heavy toll,
ring, jingle bells ring, oh irony—
how they blanket the world whole.
reach out your palms,
lay them out flat, open psalms.
soon melting from your meager alms.
too warm! too warm! I'm thawing
nothing more than a puddle.
march tenth (poem)
Author
villainess
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