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Snowmad
1: Dusting
The first layer of ice upon my soul
If you look you can still see the green of the grass, the grey of the bark, and the brown of her eyes
The air is scented black with burning coal
If you listen you can hear the purr of a kitten, nuzzling his mother, picking her heart with soft cries
Why is nostalgia always melancholy?
And memories always so sad?
Why do all my deeds become regrets?
And youth something I might have had?
The first layer of snow upon my soul
I welcome you to protect me from the sharp, green grass; cold, grey bark; and the brown of her eyes
2: Snowfall
This morning the snow falls harder, hiding the colors of the world
I can't see the path to Miss Jones house, who always welcomes me with tea
I can see footprints to the flagpole, but not if the flag has unfurled
Waving color to a black and white sky or a liitle blue village, but never to me
I can't smell Mrs. Whitaker's pies that usually wake me each day
Or the icy waters of the pond where Billy likes to fish
No, the weather has taken all of these things away
And left me alone, but not lonely, as has always been my wish
This morning the world falls harder, losing its color to the snow
I don't think I'll miss it
3: Snowbank
White pages of letters stare back at me, I've lost the desire to write
The path to my door is impassable, the snow deepens every night
The bulb in my lamp has burnt out, but there's nothing I want to see
All the pages I had written, I burned up, they were all only about me
Yet I clutch white knuckled at my sadness
And revel in a snowbank of madness
