Treasure Island

Jan Hauck

(June 1,1978)

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Ice Lake

A grey, cold morning, one of many, so familiar,
And I think about walking away,
Just for a while, into the snow, this dreaded snow,
So deceiving in its purity, so white and clean,
Then suffocating, like a blanket of death.

I crush it under my feet, I just need to walk,
The freezing air cuts my skin,
Just for a while, I get used to it, I push forward,

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