Stream of Thought

Barren landscape; bleak, empty, unforgiving

No warmth, no hope, no joy

Sorrow like snow, piled high and drifted

Against the walls of the soul;

Chilling, draining, slowly sapping

Leaving an empty husk.

About Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann

I am a wife.mother, writer, cashier (hey, it helps pay the bills), Pagan who sometimes thinks too much. A jackie of all trades and mistress of none
This entry was posted in My Writing, Symbolism and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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