Fresh Hell

 

soft, white, glitter cushioned
suspended in chill
bunnies, birds, even trees huddle
keeping their tiny inner fires lit.

life is
hush.

as the air falls still
the stars shine sharper.
unalive, eternal outsiders,
the only things not muted
by the passing of a snowstorm.

 

 

 

 

 

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Allow me to lessen the impact of the poem with kiddie art, haha. I’m trying to learn how to do digital art now. This is one of my first efforts. Brushes are fun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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