"Blood-White Winter"

Snowflakes tumble like soft pillows,
With such white beauty they
Blanket the Coast's frosted willows.
The scene so magically pristine
It is nearly an impossibility
To imagine times less jolly.

But amongst the white-topped bushes and Frost-tinted windows of cars
Left to stand still
Through the night's bitter chill,
Sits traces concealed by
Satan's blanket
Of a life taken.

And though the solitude
makes the cried muffled
As they dance and echo
Off ruffled glass floors
All through the land the
Brontide moans are heard.

All through the land the
Brontide moans are heard,
But ignored
As he who is guilty
Lays in clandestine anonymity,
Whilst torturous actions are preformed
With vulpine haste.

It is here,
In a field barren and merely forgotten
That the Fallen
Witnessed his last breath cloud
And symbolically blur his vision
As he became the victim,
Not to the lashing cold
Nor piercing wind,
But the scavenging fox's poison tongue.

Now a ghost of where his body
Unknowingly lays
The lost soul
Kneels and prays upon his own flesh.

Driven by revenge
the lifeless Poltergeist
Splits with fission
At the sight of his obsession.

And though he may not be capable
Of possession
The swift moving entity finds
Solace and peace in the
Fission lalochezia

Finally he can pass peacefully over
For he has found his
Elysium amongst the desolate wastes of a
Blood-white winter.