Snow (Poem)

"One day, you will awaken to a world of my creation.



A world without spirit."






Somewhere, in a clearing

Empty--as empty--as the glass

There stands a man hewn

From his frozen, chiseled past.



A pillar of grief and a stone

Cold heart that stalls

And refuses to beat; as these

Days build stiff, angry walls.



Walls around him, letting no

One in—alone he is today,

And alone he shall be till

Time itself fades away.



And it is alone that he thinks,

Waits for his hour to strike.

Insanity turns him inside out

And the earth about him alike.



He seeks ghosts of a humanity

That has died very long ago.

He will not dig his tattered self

From his stained grave in snow.



The snow continues to fall

And fill him to his seams.

His eyes close and he finds

He is drowning in his dreams.



One of many heart-worn men

Born into an unforgiving lie.

Remorseless and fathomless

Are the wings that will not fly.



He waits, forever impatient,

For a savior that cannot come.

The years pile on his skin, as

The snow does; and he is done.



Untangling the web that has

Surrounded him for good,

He stops and starts to see

Where and why he has stood.



Somewhere, in a clearing,

Full as the glass of the

Optimist that he never was

And the one he'll never be.



And suddenly, he is brimming

With an everlasting rage.

He rips himself apart in his

Struggle to leave his cage.



He does, and he never looks

Back upon the world he knew.

He moves, and yet he doesn't,

For the lies finally came true.



There would be an end to this

If his frozen, chiseled past

Had not caught him in the

Ice and crippled him at last.



He moves, and yet he doesn't,

For he is blind to all his flaws—

There would be an end to this;

But the day will never come when



The snow



Thaws.