Snowflakes are drops of heaven.
Like heavy feathers they can fall in the form of a storm,
And still compose angelic lightness.
They fall so conscientiously, and fight-less.
As they pitter patter down to the ground with no sound.
Delicately altering the worlds contrast and brightness…
And that’s why snowflakes are bastards.
Snowflakes paint blank the empty canvas
That good men worked hard to make.
Cry havoc the work of the sky’s
As they lay blank the empty slate.
Behind the protection of my windowsill,
I watch the Sinicism fall.
Hearing every artists heart drop,
From the annual white curtain call.
Why violate our achievements’?
In an insult to the nature of progress.
‘Though it brings excitement to the naïve,
It shan’t let my heart rest.
You hear the heart that beats in my chest?
She beats with warmth and fire.
Though come December morn,
When mother nature begins to tire,
And the trees begin to splinter,
And she folds and admits defeat.
And she prays for a warm winter,
Because the snow just holds no heat.