This atmosphere is chilling to the bone;
a world of sorrow orbits all alone.
The air is heavy even though it’s dry.
The willow shudders, letting out a sigh.
Has Isothermal given up for good?
The ice is cracking where we both once stood.
I’m slipping as I’m also reaching out,
while chocking on the words I’d like to shout.
If things continue down this path of doom,
and emptiness leads pressure to consume,
what can be done to fill the empty air;
those pockets in between hope and despair?
I must breathe in and fill my lungs with hope.
