Undesired Realism:

My grief was ice cold,
Blackened by the ash stricken sky.
My soul once whole,
Churned meek, faded
Like whispers of
–Weeping–Willow trees.

The soles of my–Feet
Are bare, soiled down
By the unyielding brambles
Brambles that stretched
Deeply content with
Being ten feet high.
My patience–Wavered–

Not once as I waited
Steadily I counted
Even breaths with
The beat of my heart
For my grief runs far
As it runs cold


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