A Weary Traveler's Words
Where to take this lonely heart? The mountains are cold, the valleys are low and my heart is even deeper. Sinking further into the distance, a star fading to existence as wolves prowl between the howls of the wind. A sin I live in, a torment of grief, of cascading pleads.
Hands bleed as a I hold this ax, cutting down trees. Making a home that shall fit me. But alone it is difficult and in time gives no residual. And alone these eyes see two perspectives. Two objectives of my miserable perception.
Joyful and dark, each with their own end, their own start. A stark terror of fear, rejection of joy, of a happy poise. As whispers of hopeful ploys, ladled in a faithful bosom of life. Trying to consume the bitter view of my strife.
The clouds thicken, dark, burying the bright, winter has come with intent to murder. To strike, to take the colors and make the world fade. And she shall be wearing a gentle color of white, crystal earrings and hair made of snowflakes.
She shall come with lips of vivid paint. Dripping colors of purity so bright, advert your eyes. Or surely they shall go blind. My hands frozen, black, frostbit by the misery of my own crypt. A death in my own head.
Feeling the cold breeze of winter hit. A masquerade of beautiful haze, this winter be. A glee most often for youth and pain for those of age. My soul taking to the dungeons of my graves, a black rose to smell. To sing, to tell my lonesome face of my forsaken grace.
As I sit with my body stiff to the blizzard of these dark dark days.
But I still grip in prayers of something better to come this way.
Do not let you pain be the existence of your life. If you must, write it down, talk about it, learn about, accept it, and love yourself. Winter should only be a season, not a reason.
Unlock the box, your heart has been locked up for too long, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words.
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