Mystery in the Blizzard
Eyes hidden deep, voice rough and low
Wind howls a dirge, snow paints the night,
A lone cabin, shrouded in white.
Footprints fresh, no tracks depart,
Only whispers on the icy heart.
Inside, warmth flickers, shadows dance,
Three souls tremble, a nervous glance.
Old Man Finn, beard etched with frost,
Speaks of secrets, voices lost.
Granddaughter Lily, eyes wide and bright,
Yearns for adventure in the darkest night.
Thomas, the hunter, stoic and strong,
Grips his rifle, senses something wrong.
A knock at the door, muffled and faint,
A stranger's plea, a desperate paint.
They open the door, snow swirls in cold,
A hooded figure, story untold.
Eyes hidden deep, voice rough and low,
Seeks shelter from the blizzard's blow.
Trust or suspicion, a choice they must make,
For mysteries whisper in the wind's wake.
As the fire crackles, stories unfold,
Secrets revealed, mysteries grow bold.
Will the truth unveil before the dawn's light,
Or vanish with the blizzard's silent flight?
Stay tuned, dear reader, the story's yet new,
The mystery of the blizzard waits for you.
About the Creator
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts7 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
Oooo, this was so captivating! I loved it!
Fantastic poem!