Snow and Rain, and Fire and Mist.

A profound poem about the double edged blade called existence.

It falls softly in the twilight hours, or is it morning? I close my eyes as a quiet music plays in my head. What was it again? There was something, something I was supposed to forget...or was it remember? Thunder. It rolls somehow gentle in its power over my head and the rain seems harsh. Snow falls gently joining itself in a glistening blanket putting the world to sleep. Rain then brings life anew, yet it's impact damages and melts the snowy painting, it destroys the peace and silence is replaced by the sound of falling water. And yet...rain is beautiful. It too is gentle on it's own way. Together they are alike and together, just as they can be gentle and calming, they can also be harmful, a frozen tomb, a watery grave, we must never forget that all things have two sides. The good and the bad.

Goosebumps run across my skin. I am alone here. This world is quiet, my even breathing, my piano, the only sound apart from the rain and my heartbeat. It echoes...echoes. Who was that? A shadow moves across my world and is gone again. Will I know? Will I not?

A deep breath of clean air flows into my lungs and out again, like the passage of time. Another breath another heartbeat, I am at peace. The cold is not bitter, but the fire is welcoming, warm, glowing. It breaths the air, wild, and dances free of all cares. Could I be gentle as the snow, as beautiful as the rain, as free as the fire? Yes, yes I am those things, and so I am also their opposites. I can be frigid, I can be destructive, and I can burn all in my wake. Does no one hate the rain the snow the fire for being what they are? A question I cannot answer. A note of song leaves my lips, it echoes across the world and bounces back again. I smile and the goosebumps rise again. What do they mean? And the piano echoes on into the misty air.

It moves slowly, enveloping me, I close my eyes and holdout my hands as if to accept it's hug. Mist hides evil from good and good from evil. The wolf and the rabbit are free of each other, the wolf and the stag cannot fight in a world where all is blind. Mist is light, what does it feel like? Wet, a bit chill. Crisp. It feels...free. The mist moves on, over the waters and the ground into the sky and then it's gone. What is mist? A comforting blanket, like the snow, and like the snow it fades and what remains? This world, this very same world. I begin to hum, eyes closed. Did I forget again? Or have I remembered? The mist's cover also has a double. It's just a mask. It is free, as I am, it is real, for a time, as I am. It disappears as if it never was as I will.

I am a world, as is the snow and the rain and the fire and the mist. I am a weapon, as they are, and a comfort as they are. I am me. There is no one here, this world is empty, but filled with all the elements that make me, and so I can never me harmed or lost, lonely? Are those things lonely? They are together and so they mustn't be. I love and I hate for I am all and nothing. It is me and I am free.