Oct 19

Winter Ponderings

Wind howling across the tangled moor.
Icy strangers show up at my door.
Needing to warm themselves by my fire.
They say they don't know me but they all are liars.
Everyone I kick back on to the plain.
Right into straight into the freezing rain.
 
They are the demons of my past.
Inching up on me, creeping so fast.
Many envy my warm silent life.
Envy as one would envy a knife.
About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway
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