The Stilled Life of Snow Angels


 

These are respite places.

Or, so we are told.

But in the interim, a simple plotted gesture for wandering souls.

I tell my lover, to make her aware.

She never hesitates to let me be.

She, alone, understands the expelling of, demons, no one else can see.

It is not mystique I seek.

Nor, blind guidance, from sacred places.

It is the silence that can only be found by…

pursuing to understand…

Understand something that will never be…

Never be completely understood.

Yet, the quest stays like a solemn secret stage.

A critiqued, columned, colloquial,

in which peace is at play.

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