Sorry I just got some poem stuff that I wrote last night.

 

Climbing

The icy wind stings your skin.

The bitter chill numbs your limbs.

You pull your hood tighter.

You silver and head higher.

 

Your gloveless hands bleed.

You pay them no heed.

The wind blows back your hood.

You look down at the road,

Down the ice-stained-red,

Back the way you came,

And keep climbing.

 

You are shaking and numb,

In pain, teeth chattering,

Hands bleeding, eyes stinging,

Your fingers nearly slip,

You can barely grip.

 

You've lost control of your limbs,

You fall,

You can barely process what happened,

You hit the ice below,

It cracks,

You fall.

 

Cold.

Pain.

Warmth.

 

Eyes closing,

Thoughts slowing,

Mind drifting,

Slowly sinking,

Mouth open,

Encompassed by ice-cold,

Trailing red above as you slowly drop below.

 

Icy Warmth

Have you ever,

Submerged your hand,

In cold-cold water,

Only to find it...

Warm?

 

Have you ever,

Wondered what it's like,

To submerge yourself completely,

In cold-cold water,

And stay there?

 

Have you ever,

Had the cold-cold wind slice through,

Your thin clothing,

And into your skin?

 

Have you ever,

Been so cold,

Shaking furiously,

That you can't think?

 

Have you ever,

Waited out in the cold-cold weather,

Outside the heat, of your own volition?

 

Have you ever,

Submerged your hand,

In hot-hot water,

With steam rising furiously,

To see what it was like?

 

Have you ever,

Wondered what it's like,

To leave it there?

 

Have you ever,

Been so hot,

Sweating intensely,

That you can't think?

 

Have you ever,

Wished you would pass out,

Just to escape the heat of hell?

 

Have you?

 

Night

The night, wonderful.

Why do we sleep through it?

What a waste.

But then again,

Part of night's beauty,

Is in the quiet.

No one else up,

Not even the sun.

A peaceful time just for you.

 

I wish I could stay up all night,

But of course that is not possible.

Not if I want to function.

Do I?

 

- Lily