His hands turned blue.
They fell from his arms,
which hung so limply.
It was not from frostbite
and he didn’t do it on purpose;
no, not he.
He was merely cold
and his body couldn’t contain
the negative degrees or
the storm he harbored there.
Nothing warmed him,
and no one understood.
He held no love for warmth,
but he wept for it,
tears which froze
and cracked upon his cheeks.
Author notes
RC,
For our Winter Collection...perhaps.
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