Beneath the heavy wings

of winter storms and many qualms

I stand looking up, betrayed,

for the sky is never blue,

and the clouds are never white.

 

Desperation is not my name,

it’s Hope, forlorn and distant,

more like a stupid childish game

when summers never end.

 

But it all ends. Some day, one day.

The clouds would pass, whiter

than the heartless snow, brighter

than the greatest hope of all.

 

My name would disappear,

a stranger in the world of man,

and no one would recall

the heavy wings of winter.

 

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