As the spring is the renassiance, the
rebirth, the winter must return. While
it destroys, there is a simply beauty in the world.
She hides, hides between the trees, hides in the
snow. Her eyes, like delicate crystals, draw
you in. And then you know, there is nothing.
Nothing before, nothing after, only during. She is
Universal, leaving nothing and everything back.
On the surface, a spoiled apple, rotted to the
core. But at the core, a light. Powerful.
like the sun, but gentle as rain. Eyes turned,
upward, bent to receiving the light.
Pale, like the fog the morning after rain.
The palest shards light up as the stars touch it, reflecting
their own better image, into thin hair. Slim like the branches,
on which she rests,but icy as the wind which
shakes her judgement.
Too many things between us, too many things keeping
us from talking,
talking like we used to.
But it will untangle, untangle like string,
as we follow it into the tunnel.
Will it be light, or will it be darkness between us?