Snowfall

Snowfall
by Michael Moreno

The snow falls;
thick, heavy, choking out the air.
Always falling...falling...falling...
Like fairies; their wings too weak
from soaring into a sky of grey velvet.

From atop their perch among the clouds
they plummet. Motionless in the air, the
ground rushing to meet them
like a dog excited over the return
of its master. The ground moves swiftly

to greet, it's asphalt arms open wide,
yearning for embrace. And the little fairies,
beating their shriveled wings with such ferocity;
all to hold on to the race from which
they have already fallen. Their final struggle

is a brilliant dance. Their powdered bodies--
a royal white--zigzag left and right,
back and forth, always down, down, down,
down. That beautiful waltz,
those horror-filled death rows,

a last fleeting reminder of the beauty they once held. No
longer does it matter, their crystalline
bodies burst in a final display of grandeur, unable
to bear the concrete's insatiable love.

Clear, invisible; like the silent tears of unseen faces,
their blood flows over the ground
into every crack, crevice and pore;
until the Earth is saturated. The lucky
ones will come to rest on mountainous piles

of their fallen brethren. Safe for a while longer
in the bosom of those that came before it;
only to bear witness to the terror of
the wingless. Crushing their kind, with
such force that they unite, entirely, blending

with one another. A mass of fused flesh
united in death, bound by fear,
and hurled into the endless abyss.
Those are the truly lucky ones,
for they have found Nirvana.