A Cold, Bright Winter

The world lays frozen as skeletons of tree branches reach toward the empty white sky.
A deep sigh leaves the cold air clouded with the haze of my breath, I wonder why,
as I face the broken glass of a bus window, why do the good folks have to die?And why before their time?

An abstract image of death paints the horizon but to my eyes…to my eyes this death is beautiful.
Spring brings rebirth, as flowers push from dirt
Reaching toward the sky from Earth.Stretching upward, they push toward the tops of trees.

Now covered in the green leaves, do you see?
Do you see that death does not end a living thing, for it continues to breathe.

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