Writer1326

Mountains made of icy sand, 

The sun peers down onto the land. 

A mirror casted upon the ground, 

As winter silences every sound. 

Whispers so cruel flood the news,

Filling many hearts with fear. 

Some listen to only what they want to hear. 

Their denial leaves a black and blue bruise. 

Sitting in uncomfortable silence,

We wait for our problem to be solved.

Changing my habits, I hope and hope.

We have been given so much,

And we have taken so greedily.

Caring is beyond so many, it seems.

I’ve always held my creative side dear to me. 

Cherishing every spur of creativity, 

However I still took this feeling for granted. 

When the stress of the word planted–