The Last Soul
A bright
Burning over cold ground
Reminds one of a single eye
Aiming the scythe like moon sliver
Gleaming with its sharpness
A re stain
Spreads across the horizon
Like blood in a bath
Old snow slides over the road
Finding no reason to stay
Where nature put it
Trees hide their nakedness
From God’s glance
In frozen frost
I see no safety
In my journey
I fear my flesh
Holds the last living soul
on this world
The lack of traffic
Threatens to confirm
My panic
By Whiskers
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