Posted in descriptive, perspective, poetry

Waltz in your own fury

Snow: as blank as one’s malnourished glare strolls

Through its’ courtyard of embittered forks of

Maliciousness and warps itself into

Another’s frolicful play amongst cold

And portentous bites of atrocity

Alas, it ends its allure of devilry

By twining its claws with the vain wooden

Hands of nature and letting itself melt

Into puddles of envious rage, for

It’s now that you waltz in your own fury

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