The wind blows a cold winters
It catches the man in his diseased
of old age lungs,
The icy cool air fills them and is
released in painful long exhales,
The dry throat stutters and
Pain releasing into the atmosphere
of clouds and memory’s,
Which engulfed unknowing passersby,
Leaving no trace that they had ever existed.
His icicle like blue hands,
The blood that flowed through their veins,
Now frozen rivers never set to run
One Passerby spares a glance and
deviant remorse for this man,
But then it is gone. Faded into the
closet that is his mind,
Never to reopen again,
This man was not aware he had witnessed
the beggars last breath of life.
And what and icy one it was.
Since writing this post Troll™ may have helped people, but has not within the last 4 days. Troll™ is a verified member, has been around for 4 years, 2 months and has 30 posts and 331 replies to their name.
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