Death in the Snow

In the snow.

The seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.

You’ve been down this road before; broken and broke.

There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now; free on this bench in the snow.

You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I was more familiar with words I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this. This is a photograph or a painting…”

Still, in the snow, you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.

Your last moments: broke and broken; beautiful and sad; thinking of the falling snow.

What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow full of a fading glow. Until the light turns to darkness. Then you get the chance to do it all differently.

To sleep between the Snowdrops

Winter holds you frozen within her frosty grasp,
for she’s waited so long for jealous Autumn to go.

Your heart beats slow in her cold wild arms,
yet she knows Autumn’s fate will be her own.

The snow falls on to your hair and face to warm you,
as Winter dances her wild cold dance around you.

You love the way the snow makes your body feel,
for your heart is ice and your veins beat glacial water.

Sleep takes you into Winter’s slender arms again,
yet when you wake the sun shines down on you.

In the ice, you lay as your heart starts to melt;
then as you look left and then right you see.

You slept within the pines last night to your dismay,
only to find you did sleep between the Snowdrops.

The Snowdrops remind your heart that love is well,
as the shoots rise up from the ice to find the sun.