Saturday, January 23, 2016

Go to Sleep, Little Baby (A Snow Lullaby)

Go to Sleep, Little Baby (A Snow Lullaby)


Snow falls silently, and its peaceful,
Toneless lullaby is sung to the ears
Of imagination, and for a moment
I can think of no better way to go,
To simply fade away into a soft
Oblivion. It would need to be gradual
Of course: I've taken a cold shower,
And I've jumped into a frozen lake;
Such change is too violent, too abrupt,
Too hard. No, that's ice. It may suffice.
Of course, Frost would know, but he
Saw this side too, stopping in woods
Long enough to feel that beckoning,
Soft, falling end. If it were fast,
We'd be forced to fight it, or flee
Inside. No, just bundle up and go out,
Only prepare yourself for a short while,
A brief visit, and then it's simple,
Outstay your welcome. Lie down
And make a real snow angel. You are
Covered, head to toe, but the cold
Seeps through, little by little. Would it
Hurt to pass that threshold, or would
You go out, seeing strange memories
Of Christmas lights and a grandmother's
Love? If you didn't fight it, didn't seek
To build the fire, would your spark
Go out slowly, snuffed, buried beneath
A million individualized flakes, collected
Together to shroud your restful body?
Would your soul hang on, enjoying
The peaceful victory over fear and pride,
Or would the ghost be given up first,
Stepping out for a better warmer seat
To watch the closing seconds, or with
The game decided, head out to beat
The traffic home? The mind can paint
A picture of anything, create illusions,
Imagine peace, just from seeing a scene
Of soft fluffy inviting white and gray.
We can see a pillow, a cloud, a heavenly
Dream, in our comfortable warm minds,
And never have to ask about reality,
The actual experience of one who knows,
Whose only coat's defenses have already
Been besieged, who has no fireside
Chair retreat, no sheltering keep to stave
Off the frozen barbarians threatening
At the gate, a man whose toes battered
Numb by repeated ramming, purpled,
Gray, already bitten, and beginning
A vampire like turn to eternal freeze.
Such thoughts make you wonder if
The softness of snow is a friendly facade,
Disguising a harsh reality, we'd rather
Not see, that there is no difference
Between snow and ice, they both,
Whether hard or soft, they still
Have knives that cut, just like tyranny.