The Fresh Virgin Snow

The Forest is still.
Quiet, ancient Oaks
Stand listening to silence.

A thick blanket,
Of fresh virgin snow,
Carpets the sleeping earth.

I am drawn here,
Every time I close my eyes.

I wander
Through this place,
Leaving no trace,
In the fresh virgin snow.

It never changes here.
I can hear the echo
Of that false reality;
Life,
Begin to fade into,

Silence.

I wander
Through this place,
Leaving no trace,
In the fresh virgin snow.

 
Written by Reece Richardson on 29/03/15
© 2015 Reece Richardson

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When a dream feels more real than reality...

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Forest, Dreams, Reality, Death, Awareness

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