Blossoms

They blow in the gentle spring wind,

cascading down towards my eternal slumber.

With their fragile petal; whispering soft remarks,

as they drift above the clouds. We are pinned.

"Winter is coming..."

The ice slithers up their delicate hands, shattering like glass.

Morning dew cracks under our desires, for whom we are not free.

Snow covers my heart, trapping me furthermore.

For though this time is grim, so is thy past.

"The ice is melting, though you're tired..."

The dying ancestors are blossoms, flying away but will be remembered.

Moss envelops my arms, pulling thy closer. But I am lost...

The birds have sprung, consuming the land with their calls.

As the statues grow old... For whom is dying. I have descended. 

"Spring is here..."

For every night we look up into the starry skies,

as I rest my hands on your palms, whispering soft remarks.

Whispering soft remarks… For whom I am a blossom, swaying in the wind.

I am a symbol of peace… Remember all of my lies?

"I am sorry... I must go."