I wonder often why we wish to bear
o’ hours of throe and mournful din,
sigh and bleed, withering leaves ―
feel angst and bliss of wintry wind.
Your touch as though sizzling flame
with eyes that long in darkness pelt.
This comforts although acute is pain,
in pools of conjecture would never
And though I’d prefer to rejoice in the
rain, couldn’t bear to tear myself away
from the mist.
Photo credits: Pinterest
“If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.”
– Tennessee Williams, Conversations with Tennessee Williams
Posted on Sunday Mini Challenge @ Real Toads