Winter's Bloodlust

Fri, 02/12/2016 - 15:46 -- Max M

The wind blows, harsh yet stale.
Winter is not new, it is the same every year:
it freezes the ground and the sky, it takes life from the trees, the bugs, the squirrels,
everything is in a deep sleep as the year gets colder;

 

but nature awakes as the sun comes anew, as the warmth radiates from the ground and the sky.

 

My father will not return with the sun,
his soul was taken with the harshness, with the cold, to the bloodlust of the everdemanding, evertaking season.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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