The cold soul is forever frozen in place.
Locked in time's pointless race to find more time.
There is never any left.
With two arms, frozen by the frost, there are two hands holding, forever frozen and lost.
Eyes stuck staring outward, at the ruthless snow, ice blows in the wind, and so too does the soul.
Set adrift, across bellowing skies. The grey in the silver lining up above, is a reminder;
of the death of the crows that has begun.
For the cry in bulk; their wings in air, and their beaks at the peak.
Come to peck the frozen eyes of the ones still warm with disbelief.
One-by-one skin sheds and disintegrates.
In the cool breeze of the evening, marks the start of their rage.
Frozen by the overscore, and forgotten within the everglade.
The lost here don't just frolic in stillness, their statues misbehave.
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