Iced Over

Winter. The cold, icy name cutting through the azure sky. Hearts frozen over like slick ponds with dead lives within. Trees bared of their silken green covers, look like skeletons standing at the ready. Howling is the slicing wind that cuts deep into my soul like the razor edge of a blade against this cold kissed skin. It creeps over the land like death covers over a sweet, stiff corpse. The grey and silver and blue dance around each other in a sensual dance creating torrents of snow and ice and misery. This, too, is how my heart is during those long; lonely days and nights. No amount of flame and fire could break the chilling beat of the dead muscle within me. It and I, are completly; utterly, iced over.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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