Undesired Realism:

My grief was ice cold,

Blackened by the ash stricken sky.

My soul once whole,

Churned meek, faded

Like whispers of

–Weeping–Willow trees.

The soles of my–Feet

Are bare, soiled down

By the unyielding brambles

Brambles that stretched

Deeply content with

Being ten feet high.

My patience–Wavered–

Not once as I waited

Steadily I counted

Even breaths with

The beat of my heart

For my grief runs far

As it runs cold