The True Face of the Arctic


Blanketed by sheets of fluff

Cold and plain these lands become.

Undisturbed and free of footfall,

The endless blizzard expands.


Fields are all a desolate white

Purest, however, under starry moonlight.

Beautiful, yet unforgiving

These sands bring out soulful fright.

Forever misjudged.


Chilling winds caress these plains,

Hugging them in tight embrace.

They add onto the lands

Misinterpreted nature,

Engulfing the airs in white.


These sands can be so vilely cold,

Like a whitened void they turn,

And end all life in its wake.

To be admired from afar.

To never be touched or beloved.


Misfortune clings to her name,

Cold and terrifying and sad,

So harshly misjudged,

Yet beautiful beyond words.

These lands breathe.



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