Snow

published thefirstcut5 Feb 2012

The water of life is stilled
and I watch
as in slow motion

the falling eyelashes of snow

whisper me towards sleep

each and every fractal variation

yet unstained

by hormonal recreation

life is the messy one

From orifices that weep, and secrete

and defecate,

weaved between soiled and tangled sheets,

in oyster stains drawn by semen filled sacks,

we find little deaths:

preambles in the dark.

all men, and beasts,

and sentient things

fear death's embrace

whether it comes gently

or without warning

because death reorganises, recycles

base elements once more

in concert;

a symphony rewritten.

©Copyright Niall OConnor Text and Images