Tired eyes alight on brittle branches,
a cold reflection of a common fate,
winter skeletons in flight on desert plains
longing for indifference;
and in the quiet of that frozen waste
and in the quiet of that frozen waste
are locked the lonely echoes of the lost.
Their silence screams
too lonely to be lost
too chained to be adrift!
Like empty dreams they scratch the shattered panes
to unleash forgotten truths.
Tired ears awaken in that stillness
a symphony, those fragile chimes,
icicles against an angry wind
that strips the branches
bare.
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