Snow and sky are all there is,

Strong gales and dark, lights --coloured-- kiss;

But when I peer into that deep abyss,

I wonder if anyone remembers why the bells ring? 

To the carollers still know for what they sing?

Meant to mourn, that is the thing;

But I see not keening, but for nature, in the wind

And once more humans forget, but Earth remembers:

For we have once again sinned.

"like dancers"

delicate white flakes

twirl in the wind like dancers

swanlike

featherlight 

The Lamentations of Hestia and Green Winters

~~~~~ 

What a disappointment these sopping days are

Of snow melted, ice gone and solely green with no mar;

If only these biting winds would once more bring

Not rain or dry, hollow imitations of what belong to Spring;

But rather white relief to this barren, achy, sleepless Earth

And glaze the ground, forcing a return to our hearth.

Eyes turned upon the night sky

Turn others' eyes towards the sky 

Irrevocably fixed to the magical tapestry

In which galaxies and nebulae soar for us to see

My bow bows, creaking, taut, in my hands

If I shoot up, will it, embedded in a star, stand?

Or will the arrow catch nothing but empty air and dark,

Falling lifeless, endless hollow wishing its only lasting mark?

I can perfectly recite Under the Lemon Tree by Marsha De La O. It's not my poem, but I know it.  

the constant tick, tick, tick 

of time rings in my mind.

minutes slip through my fingers, 

hours shatter around my feet, 

their sharp edges cutting through my skin.

yet I sit here all the same, 

frozen by the harsh realities 

that flash tauntingly before my wide eyes,

and the knowledge that I won't be here forever.

the knowledge that it's up to me,

only me, 

to do something, anything, meaningful

with this fragile life I cradle in my stiff fingers.

I'm only fourteen, 

that's fourteen ticks on my timeline, 

over five thousand days spent glancing away from the truth, 

but I think I'm ready now. 

no, I know I'm ready now. 

ready to look this world in the eyes.

because I won't be here forever, 

so I better make use of the time I have, right?

Can you look

For a treasure

Precious as a book

When it is forgotten by everyone?

Can you find

A hidden place

Full of people who are kind

When it is lost?

Everyone I know

Says that it cannot be true.

Just like rivers must flow

That which is forgotten must stay that way.

I disagree

For if it was forgotten,

How do we, over tea,

Know that it is forgotten?

So many things are true

And yet others are not.

The stories with a orange hue

Are the ones that are magical.

I do no know what

I should believe.

Is reality cut

Into pieces of belief?

I never said

That what they believed was wrong

Only that I will lie in my bed

And believe what I wish. 

A flower blooms next to a stream.

It does not belong there.

It belongs to the forest,

Not the clearing.

The flower hates sun

And yet

It grows right next

To it.

A ring is falling

Into the lake.

It does not belong there either.

It belongs on the girls hand.

The girl loves the rings

But now it is lost.

She forgets it

To erase the sadness.

A book page i tore

Is no longer readable.

I leave it on the table

And ignore it.

a piece of paper floats to the ground

No one picks it up.

It has so many secrets written upon it,

But no one bothers to pick it up.

A lie is told to prevent trouble for them.

someone else is blamed.

They try and try to prove it wasn't them

But they are still punished. 

All these things seem so little.

Then they are magnified.

A flower ignores the rest of it's kind.

A girl forgets so as not to miss it.

A book is neglected.

A piece of paper is now litter that no one cleans.

A lie is told and someone innocent is hurt.

These things can be so little

Until they are magnifed and reveiled to the world. 

Choco'y butter cream words

Melt off of lips the same colour

Honey and dwindling sunlight

Have nothing on the 'golden'-ness you emit.

Sure, you're shrouded in dusty brown

The tone of your skin,

But it makes those spark-filled glimpses of you

all the more enchanting,

And with each soft syllable, each phrase stressed just so,

I melt a bit further

Into your creamy laughter-tinged chocolate-flavoured words;

Stuck in that elusive magic. 

Little things will grow up big.

That's what my mother told me.

That was not true, for the little tree in our yard

was small through its life. 

In order to die, it must have lived.

Is what my father said.

Well he was wrong

Because toys and books die when they are forgotten.

If you do nothing wrong in your life,

It doesn't mean you did everything right. 

My 12 year old sister said.

This was true.

You don't have to see to make a map.

said my 7 year old brother.

This was also true,

for you can feel the ground and paper.

So why do grown ups

Say that they are smarted

When the things they said

Are wrong? 

Little things will grow up big

They'll be lost on the icy bridge.

Forgotten pieces

Now fall into place

It all makes sence

From a broken view.

Lost Among the ruins

A book hold these secrets

No one sees it

they burn it with the house.

They didn't know it was there

Til it fell from under a chair.

It burnt away before it could be saved

Now they all wonder

What else was in there.