Snowflake - Poem by Oisin Vink
Burnished black vortex,
The water filters through.
Siphoning grief at my base as if I were accustomed;
Alike the trees above the crag.
Roman candles, against the backlighting,
The glow is harsh and angered;
A cat’s eye entranced in the headlights.
The rock face has no doorway
When I live here occasionally.
If only to watch the building on high –
Modernist, desirable, it bends and sways into my sight.
I have come a long way,
Yet the sky is vapid,
Cold and elapsed -
Although the curtains in clouds still part, daily now,
Revealing revelations of a bleak tapestry;
Uncared for, dissected by cold wings.
Some say underneath she is undomesticated and frivolous,
When the light becomes red and sets the undergrowth on fire.
Yet the filth upon the ground still blossoms,
The flowers are kind –
Unlike the snowflake
Which whispers to me:
The meaning is the darkness,
The shapes inside your eye –
Strewn upon the roadside,
Another false effigy.
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