in the morning snow

in the morning snow

 

Little flakes of snow fell

On the highway that day;

As perfect white ash

That could turn back into old flames

 

You could see the subtle lights prevail

Of all the little people driving home.

Human in metal on stone.

Born of glass.

 

The air was coloured bitter blue

You could taste it almost

Clinging to the crimson cracks that decorate

Your unsolved bottom lip

 

It is winter

We are winter

Foals Far away from friendly fires

 

Everything is all obscured

The masquerade is blurred

We are lonely yet still pretty.

 

There are these figurines diminished

Far away

Distant

Rendered inhuman

Painted in as if we are only here

To sell a Christmas card.

They are just rumours now.

 

And you just keep on walking

Falling

Deeper

In these endless roads of white.

You are just a head now on legs.

Probably porcelain.

 

But you make such pretty footsteps

And they seem to follow you forever

Walking so quietly back home

Done