It fills my mind,
And quirks galore.
It has not left my mind -
And I have not rested since.
The flurry is hardly a sprinkle at all.
Instead, the dried green is frozen with
Magnificent and deadly crystals of ice,
Coating my vision with white -
This does not stop me, and I venture onward,
And it does the same, twisting my emotions
And whispering white lies.
My conscience has moved out, replaced by this being
So alien and strange with its ways,
Yet simply extraordinary.
I hate it, though I cannot bear to let it go.
For all of its unintentional evils, there is no will,
Want, or need to hurt it.
And so, it stays, yapping on as I struggle through the deepening
Mess and silence that had once been so loud and clear.
There is a glint of a wonderful brown in the distance.
It has not been part of my paranoia or dreams -
A wounded creature,
Once beauteous, now stumbling,
Trying to regain its pride.
But how I can see through it all,
Its dulled eyes, contor