Credulous Grievance

With hands graced upon the snow,

much like an epitaph that reminds of a wayward time stolen by the inevitable; it inspires ponder foretold by an ending that was already nigh.

“What is a key without a lock”?

“What is security without a perimeter”?

So the words dare release from the tongue, with hands graced upon the snow, with cold whispering throughout the body, much like remnants of a credulous ideal betrothed to the agreeance shared by fate, for at this very moment is time for grievance.