Northern light

Rainy days
Bad days
why did I return
this was never my city
It´s heart is made of stone
all year around is cold
the light in the winter is weak
the light in the summer night is bleak
We the cold people in the north
dead before we lie in our graves
I rather fail elsewhere 
but here I am
without money
without hope
of a better tomorrow
I can only look out of the window
into the grey dusk and the tiny raindrops
forming intricate patterns

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About

I am who I was when I wrote this text but I do not know if I exist now. I am from Scandinavia where the arctic starts

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Posted in Poems

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