The Snow

Snow burdened the weary leaves, Drooping in view of the shivered fence. There I sat blushing my knuckles, Uncertain of movement around this chair. I remember the etching stone, With silent squeaks, That circled my brain. Grievingly aware of departing clouds. There I sat with no muscle, To find with sight a consuming abyss. Littered with glinting, white eyes; Like a madness scatters nails. And then dark oversee, Dark, blackest light Spat out my eyes... Burn an old barrel. Snow burdened these weary leaves, And I surveyed the depth of the fence. For now I may hang out my hands, Sitting alone on this frozen park bench.