By saramyriad
Little lambs soft in the clover
Or snakes under blooms, what does it matter to me?
It’s the same, different masks
But, do you hear it? Do you see?
The snow, crunching deliciously under paws
A bite in the air, exhaling plumes of life
Gentle as swansdown but far more deadly, housing
Teeth reflecting the moonlight; a pink tongue
Curled and tasting, waiting.
A coat of night, flecked with glimmers
The sky frosted with stars
I am singular, a distant meteor and I do not
Play in chaos nor respect those who do
Each year I get older,
And each year it seems a little more silly
To concern myself
When the moon hangs above like a pearl
Flurries gently dance around me,
And the trees whisper their deep green truths.