Light dims with despair of coming night.
Ice falls upon footsteps, finding themselves alone.
The moon is obscured by thickened skies,
Preparing for tears that come with sleep.
To think, through winds such as these,
Cold hands held on so tightly, so warm.
Now they wrap troubles written on paper,
Burning with an air of frozen silence.
Smoke mingles with the sorrow and fades.
Dreams have become lost in background’s dirt.
Nothing remains on a painted darkness where,
once, emissaries watched, waited, shivered.
The moon is obscured by thickened skies.
The ground hardens over tired flowers.