Cold ApocalypsA Poem by BrokenButterflyThe stones are tucked in for the night with a blanket of untouched snow. It may be July but the cold is all we now know.
The world is dead the stones mark the spot where beings shall forever rest and rot
The sun no longr shines down every happy smile turns to frown
no child remembers to laugh and play the joy has died as did the day
the last butterfly broke its wings the last choir forgets to sing
hearts as cold as the world in which they live no heart has any love left to give. © 2008 BrokenButterflyReviews
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5 Reviews  Last Updated on October 5, 2008 Author
BrokenButterflyAboutI write when emotions are raw, and almost uncontrollable. It is a temporary fix to a long term problem - having too many thoughts in my head. Sometimes they just need to come out. more..Writing
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