Winter of a soldier & # 039; & # 039;
Winter of a soldier & # 039; & # 039;
The winter of a soldier
Yesterday it did not snow.
The sun hung as naked as a hollow ball on a Christmas tree, which seemed dead and motionless, a mere symbol, not a living being.
Where had all the joy gone, when it was so badly needed?
I held out my hand thinking that if I could only touch and feel the familiar, then everything would be right again and my memories would be restored.
The color was all wrong.
The yellow before was white-blue.
The heavens themselves were like a cold vampire, sucking.
The trees are Strangers, hanging around, disapproving of the ashes of winter ... My world, my life, my wandering path, have been lost.
I felt so alone, knowing what I knew and seeing so clearly.
Nobody wants to share this vision; everyone is still dancing, singing a child's song, even when the music died.
When the joy was gone, they could still move on.
But now as robots, with arms of zombies and legs of zombies, And the dead heart of a zombie, looking for heat, not love.
He could see, but no longer participate, separated from his dreams.
I pray that the eyes of God will look at me again and remind me that I am still their son.
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