Consumed in the tangles of thorn, the frost of winter bit into me like iced stiletto. I failed to see the reds of petal in my horizon, luminous, tranquil and sincere. Walking and kicking all that came my way, I failed to notice the green leaf of life under the shattered and withered leaves of winter. Where the newborn leaf had come from, I did not know. It was miracle, a sign of hope, for what I relished, yet I could not touch. I am living, I always have, and the leaves are green, brown, and red.
You live amongst the leaves, maybe one day you will surface from the veils of your fortress,
the thorns may stop pricking...
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