POEMS


Snow -o- by Steve

The first snow of the year,
the white stillness creeps into the bone,
and in the frozen stillness,
the sound of your own,
wild heartbeat for things only half remembered.

Memories of a time when this world pulsated with raw life.
yet, now the snow falls,
and with it the primitive can be borne anew.

Bite deep, ever deper into the snow clad silence,
feel the wild surge of blood that calls you back,
away from the sad travesty of this time,
back to a world of wonder,
of pure magick,
to the strange, wild cry in the night!

In the gathering whiteness,
she comes to claim her own.