And now the ground is white
clearing the city from its pain.
I sit, watching my own sins removed
finally with relief shown on my face.
I feel alive for the first time,
not knowing where I shall be the next day.
My mind wonders as the whiteness blinds me,
giving me new eyes to see and a mouth that shall finally be heard.
I want to think, oh god, how I miss such delicacies
of when my time was spent muddled over problems that I created.
So the snow becomes my own salvation,
a place, a time, when I can truly be myself
among the rot and stink of what used to be.
Perhaps, then, this is forever
when love and emotions are no longer felt.
My hair, black strands, cause such a fuss
when the white claims it as its own.
This is my time-
my own space, my own world, my own body
nestled among leaves of brown and gold.
Spring seems too far away
and yet I can smell it coming ever closer
even when the white now consumes me.
I want to cry because I am cold.
I want to love because I am naked.
I want to relax because I am indifferent
to the discombobulating silence that makes my ears bleed.
And yet . . . I see my true purpose.
My purpose, here, among the white: a man
stretching his hand towards me, giving me the solace
I want desperately.
Damn the world for what I have confessed to
for I no longer think like Men
but have moved to a better place.
I am, here. White, flecks of grey.
A challenge laid before me, with my name
whispered among the dead trees.

3/7/08