These short, gray winter days
stained by distant blood,
distant and yet so close
the hearts that stop beating
in broken chests. Those
last heartbeats, the gasps
of air and life hungrily
taken before darkness
deeper than our nights,
live on in our minds,
innocent blood becoming
crimson light at dawn
between gray-iron barriers
of imprisoning clouds.
28.12.2024
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti