All the Letters I Won’t Send


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The sky has been frozen blue today
And it reminded me
To leave my yellowing prison behind
To feel the life around me awhile

I consciously bared my skin today
It breathes in the last of November
As the seasons, in their rotation
Remind me of the life I’ve lived on paper

For the pale white orb of the sun today
Seems caught in a death grasp, but I sense
A peacefulness growing within me, as I
Think of all the letters that I won’t send

Often written in moments of passion
Some lie rotting inside me, others I sold cheaply to the void
But most of them were silent songs
And I often wonder why they came to be

So the world keeps moving, rotating every day
But for now, in this white stillness
I am grateful for all the now-lost words that I
Once dreamed up in my head
Into all the letters I won’t send