Snowflake Poem by Killian Brooks

To she, who in life’s fatal grip holds -
Fast to pain beyond her years,
She speaks a language, to gray;
Though her eyes glisten with laughter,
And a florescent beauty,
And I try to disarm her darker musings.
With a fiercely, pulling, sympathy.
To steal away its power.
When thoughts turn back to our,
Darkest hours, over thy spirit.
And though bitter, scornful life carries on in thy midst.
In mock of thy stiff agony, taunting veil and grief.
Yet a few latter seconds thou,
The blooming spring.
Blushed quietly at the dew dropped fern,
Noor yet that simple joy be so swiftly brushed away,
By tears I wish thee never taste.
Rather, recall those downy days -
When light still called thee his own,
Why commune with the mirth of trials past?
In his entire course, need you pine for death?
Smile instead.
Enjoy the calm with no thought of the tempest to come,
Cling fast to whose memory thou shalt use to weather it.
Woe’s dowry strips don’t suit thee and be greaves my mind,
For lack of knowledge.
For all the wisdom pearls can, in turn,
Charm the swells to rest.
My voice falls short,
And who’s uneducated words,
Mean nothing.