In it’s first instant The first moment It’s first thought The first feelings Falling – drifting – Gracefully dropping From unknown origins The air is cold and Powerful, pulling, dragging But the snowflakes Never collide or touch Graceful chaos – This snowflake And it’s unique pattern It can’t remember the time before Maybe the other flakes Have forgotten too It floats and falls Surfing on gusts Still never touching The multifarious falling flakes On a journey down Down to the endless white What is the destination – After the eternity The snowflake lands On the branch of a tree The other flakes continue down To the whiteness from which The tree protrudes The flake sits alone – It wonders again of The time before the fall And where it came from No memories are there The other flakes sit together On other branches and the ground Other flakes have stopped falling This flake sits at the top of a tree Overseeing so many Distant and cut off from so many It wonders how all the other Flakes can be together How were they able to come together – Children below play with Multiple flakes packed together Snowballs, snowmen, snow angels The one flake envies the fun All the flakes participate Except this one Who doesn’t know how To join with another flake Who sits atop the tree Afraid to join the crowd – The night falls and passes And the sun creeps Into existence The air is still cold But lifeless – The flake watches it’s Brethren disappear In large patches Vanishing, melting Where have they gone And did they go together – In it’s last instant The last moment It’s last thought The last feelings Drifting – darkness – A lonely sleep
This week’s Sunday Share is “A Sorcerer Bids Farewell To Seem” by Sylvia Plath. A different take on Alice in Wonderland, Plath is a master of imagery and metaphor. I have found that much of my own writing is similar. I do not claim to be as skilled as Plath. More of her work can be found at The Best Poems Encyclopedia among many other poets.
A Sorcerer Bids Farewell To Seem
I’m through with this grand looking-glass hotel where adjectives play croquet with flamingo nouns; methinks I shall absent me for a while from rhetoric of these rococo queens. Item : chuck out royal rigmarole of props and auction off each rare white-rabbit verb; send my muse Alice packing with gaudy scraps of mushroom simile and gryphon garb. My native sleight-of-hand is wearing out : mad hatter’s hat yields no new metaphor, and jabberwock will not translate his songs : it’s time to vanish like the cheshire cat alone to that authentic island where cabbages are cabbages; kings : kings.