#58
Sleeper Agent
What is snow but a sleeper agent,
entering our lives in the quiet way
of an innocent immigrant from the old world?
It settles down around our feet
and hides away all the sweet memories
of summer's peaceful mantras;
shattering the foolish dreams that it'd
always be the way it's always been.
And the snow holds its head low,
whittling away time until we begin
to see ourselves in the lifeless crystal;
and the narcissistic reflections wrap
around us with our own eyes,
those pools that can lie so easily.
As the world toils away at the menial drab,
the snow wraps its hands around our ankles;
we forget the caressing grass --
all that will be as it all was;
snow is nothing but a sleeper agent.