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Silent night,
It's not Christmas,
As we watch the snow fall.
And frostbite creeps;
The Devil's cold, cruel hand,
Fingertips turn to ice,
At the edge of this abyss.
Do you remember?
You used to love the Piano.
Mozart, Coldplay,
Maybe The Beatles.
The chords are now stiff,
As you slowly drift,
And you can hardly speak.
Words are heroes,
They talk of time.
For a split second we imagine,
The ice is getting thinner.
Ghostlike; I watch you fade,
White, Grey and Blue.
Angels stretch out their wintered hands,
And freeze the blood in you.
![](https://graphics.gaiaonline.com/images/arena-images/ic_paper_corner_32x32.gif)
Comments (2 Comments)
- Mixxdd_Grrlee - 06/17/2009
- i wish i could meet u and hear ur poetry, share mine wit u. poetry is everything, and u have helped express its delightful beauty!
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- Panic Pirate - 06/17/2009
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Wow, that's stunning, especially the imagery!
This poem could mean so many different single things all at once, I love it. - Report As Spam