mighty lagoon
Alone sat a boy in a winter mirage:
a lake whose icy eyes stared softly up,
its mane of dried flora swaying in the frigid air.
The scene was painted still with binding grass
that dearly held the winter's frozen veil.
Silently, the boy longed for a winter that didn't hum a quiet decay:
one with snow that was soft
and cocoa that was warm
and faces that looked down
and said I love you.
The chilled breath of the night danced in the slow, melodic winds.
Beneath a bare—unconquered sky, the boy rose,
gazing up at stars that sighed the purest shade of white.
In his mind, all the world was here
—and it was cold—
and there was no use waiting for the stars to reach gently down and take him.
If his heart carried a weight that left him stunned—sunken into his bed every morning,
then how could the stars even try?
kindred kraken