As he walked, there was a chill in the air that seemed to hover.

That omnipresent gloom

that consumes

reeking of contradiction,

as it bides its time

to marvel at the resiliency

of the maligned.


And with that.

He looked up, startled, as the church bell chimed; scattering his thoughts, like the autumn leaves.

He stood there, frozen in place, staring at the cross out in distance, as the chill in the air released him from its grasp.

Copyright © 2016 ShunPwrites. All Rights Reserved

Writer, poet, possessor of 2 cents, blogger, recovering corporate animal and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will only get in the way.

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