Whiteout
the white I was slipping into
Velvet petals fold over the thorn,
soft, pillowy, a gentle cushion
for love’s folly.
Snow drifts like powdered crystal,
settling over trunks and stones,
a silver hush that breathes around me,
an illusion of milk that floods my vision.
Beauty by any other name still carries it’s thorns.
This poem beautifully captures the delicate balance between beauty and pain, using vivid imagery to evoke a sense of wonder and introspection.
Pretty and lush! I’ve always thought snow was beautiful even if it does carry “thorns” (dangers). Are you experiencing the blizzard?