Snow gets in your eyes.

The wind swirls the snow,

Whirling snow blows back showing earth of black.

The blackness flickers and starts like a flame,

Flickers and starts like a flame.

Reminds the walker of hidden demons that refuse to be named.

The demons lay in wait for a moment of despair

and rising then they feast on a heart oppressed,

a heart damped down by embittered regret.

In this quick and tormented moment the dormant beast awakes.

Its slumber in the synaptic gap has swelled its appetite

and the beast will dine on a supple heart tonight.

The heart that flutters with fear,

squeezes its flourishing self pity

into a ball of animosity

is a delectable morsel for the ravenous prancing shadow.

Onward into the snow the walker goes,

slow, slow, while the wind blows,

blows the snow back till eyes see black.

The walker is singing. Do not ask the melody;

the tune is not living.

Flakes fly by the side like stars in an endless galaxy

while the walker takes this cosmic ride,

hypnotized, mesmerized, the snow, the snow, it gets in your eyes.

Walkers take warning, be wary tonight. The shadow is nigh.

The snow,  the  snow, it gets in your eyes.

Take refuge from this storm and stay inside.

Hold tightly to your faith. Draw near your loving bride.

By the glow of the hearth safely reside

and venture not abroad where the snow, the snow, gets in your eyes.


About m.a. wood

writer, thinker, musician, teacher
This entry was posted in poem. Bookmark the permalink.

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