Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Through the winter wood so bare
Barely touched by the cold moonlight,
She wanders in a stumbling pace
Her eyes staring---empty sad.
The worn coat does nothing for warmth,
Her blood seems as cold as a mountain stream
For how can love warm someone,
When love has only ever been a dream?
Where she is going barely matters now,
She has no home awaiting her return.
The father who should have sheltered her
Is the one who turned her out to the cold.
Her hair has long since ceased to shine
Her soul through her eyes no longer gleams.
For how can love light a life,
When love has only ever been a dream?
Reflecting back she still doesn’t know
What could have made her father hate her so.
Is it her lake blue eyes he hates—
The eyes so very like her lost mother’s?
Her pace has slowed—now stopped
There is no more hope on which to lean.
No one can survive past a first mountain snow
When home and love have been made a dream?
Reminders of the past
Demons of the past
War Drums. A poem.
's lovely picture "First Snow" Which (if it works) can be found here: fav.me/d6hm2fs purhaps it is a little more sad that i meant for it to be, but... oh well, it is what came to mind.