Forgive

The snow outside icy and grey
Hard as a heart I use to know
A heart still not dead.
Alive and well unable to trust
the next boot fall,
the next gloved hand

Outside the window stands a
ghostly specter - a man unable
to find, see or touch,
pearl seeds in his own hands.
Sir, I stole them.
May I give them back? 
Will you take them from these
half - dead cold hands?
No?
Then, I must hibernate in death
without resurrection.


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