The Dead World

When the city thaws and the
Frozen hearts of men turn warm
And shine, the streets of black
Turn brown, and cold, and wet.

The buds hidden away,
Tucked in by the blanket white,
Sink, and friends meet once again;
The charred remains of crusty lips say hello.

Tiny boots run rampant and stamp
The frozen pools that hide life
And death, for 5 months. The mittens
Hold gloved hands that say “stop.”

The Carrot-nosed friends we met
And made say goodbye and die
And are carried away on the wings
Of guardian snow angels. They look like us.

This time, the saddest time
Of year, when comfort melts away
And cries down the drain, and none
Can tell the difference between shards of broken glass and shattered ice.


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