Little icicles,
growing into larger ones,
clutter my window
Precipitation:
Unique specks from the heavens.
I think of mankind.
Similarities
abound on the ground around
except it's pure white.
Nature is beauty.
Beauty demands to be felt;
warm smiles and cold cheeks.
Earth's voice is blinding!
Winter's flurries of anger.
"I will be noticed!"
We, the impure flakes,
shovel, tainting purity.
We long for control.
Filth demands to spread.
Beauty and pain, to be felt.
Life demands respite.
Murky icicles,
dripping on clean snow beneath,
clouding my brain. Drip.
YOU ARE READING
Herban Poetry
PoetryA small but ever-growing collection of original poetry from the mind of a 19 year old pothead. This is home to a large range of thoughts, feelings, and ideas that cloud my head in poetry form.
