Snowflake

Soft, precious,

Gentle thing,

Pure white,

Untouched and clean.

Though cold, alone,

Deemed just a speck of dust,

Prickling pain it’d bring,

Even in a regular light gust.

Isolated, ’tis nothing

But a flake —

Yet when gathered,

It could be inherently great.

Melt, it will,

In hands of warmth.

Icy, chilling, frigid are the places

From which I’m brought forth.

With seasons,

I come and go —

Often fragile,

And so alone.

So please, heed

What you’re about to be told:

Sometimes, truly,

I just want to be held.

Red Light

Food, Pen,

Love over light.

Hair embraces,

Blue lusted world.

She sits,

Blinded by cold air.

Wheels rolling,

Shifting grey ground.

Shoes thumping,

Dragging through hard clay.

Red chokers —

Itching to pay.