Snowfall

A Poem by RomeroNYC

Pale moon;
Dove colored
Bloodless in despair.

You wear my mother’s white dress;
Demure in an innocence of light
Forever awaiting the victor.

The Blind man’s Sun.
Ancient suitor of light.
Entirely near, alto echo of night:
You warm the embittered heart
Of my sister’s love
Though her heart’s gone to frost.

Julie, music’s bearer,
Happiness to be found
Is first rather looked for, no?

Charisma, my own,
The fears felt of your daily living
Were, in truth, my very own.
And yet I smile
Causelessly
I smile.

Look, my closeness,
I am your friend.
Same that suffers you
Is the very wound at my side.
& we’ve accepted
& prayed.

Nothing known.
The Enigma of the rose
The insanity of peace
In all its green
Boredom
& you, my
Morning star,
You are the dwindling fruit
Of someone’s, or is it
Everyone’s necessary dying?

I bite through the soft
Ephemeral skin of your
Ripe ruin and savor the sweet
Poison of your bitter juice.
Dying a piecemeal.
My dear grandmother’s farmstead
Has been brought to a ruin
Of fragrant weeds
& apropos thistle down.

Dear,
My dwindling mother’s skin.

Ash tree, in your canopy
Nests my life’s destiny;
A flock of fledgling stars
Who’ve yet learned
To wound the dim,
Palpable flesh of your Easter sky
In their numerical flights.

Mother, you couldn’t see,
Your mouth was shut closed by the sooth
Of grandfather’s mortal memory.
& still

I remember the fountain in the plaza
The beautiful silk of nostalgia
The brilliant parrot scenes
Plaza de leon
And my father,

My father’s eyes have withered to dust.