(Still hating on winter)

The sunset turns 

bloody in the spring

until the red drips down

and the ink of the night

sweeps over the sky

and the stars twinkle brightly

winking to the bats

like there's a secret

they'll never tell.

The sunset pales

in the winter air

and the colors are dull

with little brightness to share

and the dark comes sudden,

abrupt in the cold sky

and the stars glitter like

shards of ice, warning you

to never go near.

I'm still waiting

for the colors to 

come back.

The End

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