A cavern shrouded in snow,

Home to air and ice,

When weary, the bear emerges,

Dormant on shards of vice.


A light which wakes blind mice,

And refines snow to steam,

Merely reflects off its claws,

Forming a chronic beam.


A noise could not halt its dream.

Neither thought nor prayer,

Which one’s love urges,

Could wake this bear.


A fate none hope to share,

For this bear does not know,

To walk on its paws,

Its own mind must grow.

— Kevin Joseph Flors

Thanks for reading! Don’t know about future post times, however expecting a post within the next week would be reasonable.


(Photo from Pexels)


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