Silence and Solemnity of Snow
There's a silence and solemnity to snow -
a sacredness in the soft folds of winter's gleaming cloak.
It was there when last love cast away from me,
when it found me once more in the boughs behind my home.
Alone inside the house before, I raged, I writhed,
unsure of who I was or what followed.
In those branches my tears and cries froze, silenced,
in the stillness of a white hand gently fallen on my shoulder.
Countless soft fingertips landed on me and 'round,
windlessly drifting down, soothing without wintry bite.
A broken heart it had not the power to mend,
simply lull for a few moments in time;
providing succor enough for contemplation, thought,
rather than screaming for what was thrown away.
It wasn't there for years while away in warm places,
and perchance those years have been the most chaotic;
the tune of the island upbeat, not sedate,
the hush of the jungle a threat, not a solace.
Mayhap when this upheaval has been put to rest,
so too will my hiatus from chill's cotton calm.
Mayhap I'll climb the trees of the past,
and in the flurries and flakes see a future.
There's a silence and solemnity to snow -
a smile hidden in the cold, in the white, in the magic.
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