The first frost is always false.
Children squeal with tales of snow,
Magic feels imminent,
But it’s never quite cold enough
And unique snowflakes pool into puddles on the ground,
It fades into rain at some point in the night,
The memory of it fading too.
People wait excitedly for real snowfall,
The kind that children can play in,
They forget about what came and was not enough,
The snow forecast that proved to be simply a false alarm,
But what of joy is truly false?
Snow’s beauty is not in its permanence,
As the trees cover in frost,
And rivers turn to ice,
The first frost becomes but a glimpse of what was to come,
And fades into the night.
About the Creator
Samantha Smith
I am an aspiring author, who also has too much to say about random books and movies.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
Trees cover in frost and rivers turn to ice. - Nicely Done!!!!!
ohhh so relatable! love how you took this little detail in childhood and wrote a poem about it!