A Blanket of Snow

Original Poem by idream3223



Your vines, the color of fire, embrace my stone visage.

We were ancient when the conquistadors came.

Our passion did reach the heavens and the gods themselves tasted of envy.

Their punishment, you the vine, me the stone, and home this mountainside.

Every rain drop, every snowflake, every cold wind that blows, we are laid bare to them all.

In Summer I watch you bloom, green and luscious like the jungles we dreamed of seeing.

Your tendrils covering my rough exterior, caressing me, covering me.

Wearing away tiny tracks that show your trespass on my skin.

All Summer I watch you.

In the fall you change, your passion  bursting forth and covering me in the color of red.

Oh, you shine so bright! Burn so hot against my skin! Covering me, kissing me, searing me.

I cry that I cannot cry.

No tears from a stone.

Inside my soul weeps for your beauty.

In the Fall you change.

In Winter, you sleep, still wrapped around me, under a sheet of ice and a blanket of snow.

It is then that I whisper of my love to your sleeping mind and imagine I feel you hold me tighter.

It is then that I feel closest to you.

In the Winter when you sleep.

2 thoughts on “A Blanket of Snow

  1. Laurie Keim says:

    Extended metaphors normally disturb our tastes these days. But the poetry, here, works, as solid as stone and as ephemeral as falling leaves. Great post!


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