Descending Souls

Tombs of frozen wastes from Heaven;

Earth’s self-constructed sepulcher of ice;

Enter the connotations of Winter.

But not this eve,

Not this eve does that ring true.

Hundreds, thousands,

Millions of deftly constructed souls descend.

How they dance!

How they mesmerize!

Perpetually, the soundtrack of the Wind

Carries the pure white souls.

And with innocence,

Paint the world with their resting

And complex bodies.

Laying in a mournful silence,

They await to retreat,

And to descend again,

Dancing and enthralling all watchers.

Reviews

[Rob Santana]

Dude, you have a killer way with words. Well done man!!