· 

Yearning for Ice

How could I prefer

The sun's violence ?

The body has righteous ways

Of washing itself clean,

Until there is but soothing white.

I selfishly believe in

The promise,

Humanity is cleared away,

Crouching under

The knee-deep surface.

And the soul 

Let's its feet dangle 

From the verge of rebirth 

In the calmness 

Of a season 

So forgivingly dead.

 

 

How would I compare myself 

To the summer's burns,

When I am but 

The tender wish for hypothermia ?

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About Me

I'm a passionate hobby writer and poet, usually finding comfort in German poetry rather than English texts. However sometimes I feel obliged to express myself in English. "Puddle of Ink" was my first attempt at sharing these thoughts. Now only because I've published a book, there is no reason to let this blog die, right ? :)  Feel free to skip through it and/or contact me here.

 

mail@interiorgirl.co


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