Snow

Quiet, quiet, quiet as death
White, polar white, white, as clean
As the unmarred page,
The pen held in abeyance
Above the white nothingness.

The silence is deaf;
Watching the snowflakes
As large as silver dollars
Falling from the grey skies,
As silent as sullen cats
Creeping to the ground.

There should be sound;
There should be some auditory trace
Of the flakes falling from the sky,
But no, there is nothing
Beautiful nothing
As the white silver dollars fall to earth.

Covering the world with whiteness
Painting silence into the scene
Brushstrokes from the silent artist
Unseen above, beyond the grey
Above the world, beyond the universe, now mute,
Muffled with the wooly, wooly white
A cold, soft mitten covering the hand
Bringing the world white comfort.

Returning the great canvas
To a time before the first artist's hand
Populated the scene
With His creation,
Separated the darkness from the light,
Mapped out the stars and planets,
Banished the darkness
And muddled world
To clean, cold nothingness
Nothing but the silent thoughts of God
Arresting His hand
Above the unsullied canvas.

One star shining in the purple above,
One silent, winking light
Reflecting its presence upon the white, silent world.