Robbed of green, of blue, of warmth; straining beneath the crush of lethargy. Cyclical death asphyxiates the land, beckoning close the silent storm: a shroud
with tattered edges wisping off threads, delicate strands of blinding white, frozen. Cocooned, deliriously drowsing, a yawn of months stretches out ahead, bitter days, the season of restless dreams. This barren terrain a sterile void, clouds the color of disease. All spirits have flown abandoning this withered corpse, frosted over, hideous in its repose. Comments are closed.
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