I long for silence in the depths of my mind.
The words are spiralling like snow in a snowstorm.
Slippery and hard to catch, leaving me watching,
As the crystals melt into nothingness.
Maybe it is better this way,
For most words are meaningless.
Except, some words seem to be balls of ice,
That leave behind bruises as they fall to the ground.
Frozen in this wintry madness, unable to move.
There is white all around me, pure, untouched.
I long to reach out, and feel the warmth,
Of these snowflakes, soft and welcoming,
Before the numbness crawls up my veins.
But there is an element of pain in healing,
It is easier to let my lids feel heavy and fall,
As I slowly lose myself to the numbing cold.
There is a despair in the howling of the wind,
As if every moment it loses an essential part of its soul.
The mind is trapped under an avalanche,
And does not know above from below.
I long to awaken and see colors, blue, darkness,
Anything other than this white idiosyncracy.
No, I just realized I have my words all mixed up,
The white is too consistent all around me.
The craze of the storm must drift into serenity,
The snow must fall sleepily, with a defined purpose.
I am still awake, my mind slowly thawing,
But the numbness wants to keep its newfound control.
The roads are covered uniformly with blissful white,
I want to move, but I have lost all sense of direction,
How long must a soul aimlessly wander,
Before realizing that it is not yet lost?