by Miles Rausch
“I choose white” – bright like starlight,
But pure chrystallite on its space-wise flight.
So, dot dot dot, here’s fallen snow –
“All dressed up with no place to go.”
Blanc, like a bride, blushing with cold,
Made frozen and bitter with no one to hold.
She closes her eyes, but try as she hides
She can’t force back feelings. Her loneliness sighs.
This winter she’s gone out, spaced apart – tossed about,
Launched into the air, floating haphazard routes.
She lands upon earth, hard, sans sun’s mirth,
And lays there forever as snow without worth.