Jan 18


The green earth is forgotten 
As a season of crystals takes over.
I squint out of my goggles out at the wave of quiet night.
A snowy fog has settled over the mountain tops 
And my hair is white with snow.
I look out and all I see is the chairlift in front of me.
A lone figure 
Shrouded in snow
Their snowboard dangling in thin space.
I wonder briefly who they are
And what their life is like.
If they have a best friend and a warm bed at home
Or if they are cast away and are going home to a fireplace full of ashes.
I’ll forget them by tomorrow,
But tonight we are all that lone figure
Who’s thinking about something
No one else can know.
About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway