In the likeness of a City

White blooded drapes lace the death of trees.
Shards of bladed glass perfect figures
as delicate as the color of a doll.
A canvassed willow;
its strength withered by the heavy stole
of diamond water
as weak as the man who carved them.
Glistened reflections of traveled snow
burdens the bleak faces
hidden by cloth of wind,
speaking only in moans of anguish
with the breath of our own.
Iron curtains bound this town of slaved dogs;
savages of vulnerability and greed,
tired beyond their bitter ends
and so awfully cold.
Warmth from my hands barely manifests this conceit.
Fated prints pressed against a frosted pane
leave behind a sweated window
that disappears into a frozen dream
by way of my own breath;
as my papered words are forever doomed.