Snowstorm

The snow falls silently, with a sense of serenity that betrays
The inner turmoil of my mental hurricane.
How can the world still spin, the snow still fall,
When my heart is in such pain?
Here, the snow falls peacefully, pure in its pale spendour,
But behind the mirror that burns with a hidden flame,
It falls with screams of torment, cries of agony,
For the flakes are stained red with shame.
Beneath the ever-darkening clouds I saw you,
Your masquerading face reflecting in the shining drifts.
I saw your face without the mask of lies,
And cast myself in the widening, shadowed rift
That seperated our kindred souls with such ease.
Down I fell, and down still more,
But still the snow falls white.
Will I never sink deeper than this scintillant horror?

by K.M. Jones

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