Snow trodden roads.
Brighter tomorrows.
White glistening fine powder holds a mystery...
Secrets unknown, captured kisses, hidden amongst the flakes of crystal alabaster.
Shimmering and white.
Destinies lie in the shadow of a frozen past.
Falling, falling, falling, it calls...
Ever so steadily, ever so crisp.
No way out of yesterday, but tomorrow.
The dawn laden cries of the infants
bellowing out in pain
about to embrace the cold, the secrets, the sickness of the prospect of morrow.
bellowing out in pain
about to embrace the cold, the secrets, the sickness of the prospect of morrow.
No more do those roads travel.
No more trodden paths of snow.
Go into the mourning for therein lies the healing of sorrow.
Ingrained, indwelling comfort of the immanence of the soul.
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