The Cold War

And stitch together broken bones
That bleed ivory like the rivers that run through the town
And crimson stains the snow
As it drifts in flurries through the windows
Leaving frost and frost-bitten children behind.

And cold, blue fingers trace patterns on ice
And the day is black, so black,
And overhead the storms swirl in complex patterns
Of diamonds, fractured diamonds, and smooth shined silver.

People freeze in the gutters, and ice-toned hands gesture
While faintly-shaded blue lips mouth rebellious words.

The End

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