Competing systems collide,
In rare and mysterious fashion.
A mist or a drizzle deposits,
In layer after layer of glaze.
Not a sudden occurrence,
But building with passing time,
Changing temperature may reverse
The slow and fearsome process.
The wise seek refuge inside,
They sleep until the sounds begin,
Creaking, groaning, cracking,
Snapping, clattering, crashing.
Morning dawns to an altered world,
Tangled limbs encased, suspended,
Fallen or bent low to the ground,
Creating a crystal palace maze.
For days the cold preserves
The sun illuminated glory
Of a world coated with diamonds
And iridescent jewel paint.
Warming begins the degradation,
With a slow and steady dripping.
Gemstones fall into the snow,
Revealing bare and broken branches.
Some will recover in the spring,
Green sprouts of new life will
immerge.
Others, damaged beyond repair,
Will slowly rot away.
The red carpets of the world,
Sparkle with couture and jewels,
Flashes of light reflect from icy
glamour.
But time and gravity operate.
And not every tree can bear,
The horrible weight of beauty.
No comments:
Post a Comment