Winter
Icy blade,
a freezing face,
yet smiling
for the snow.
So blissfully,
he seems content;
to witness from within.
Until one moment,
he is pierced through,
sin, endearing.
A single blow,
unto his skull,
and all is quiet.
But the fire roars,
and still; he lays,
waiting-- watching.
For within he's living still,
content to stay there.
Copyright © Saint Alphonse | Year Posted 2009
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