Defiance | a poem
Headlights make no difference in this wasteland where streams of cold light build a wall of white against us, betraying us, perpetually pulling us, Reminding us of a time when no one was lucky, when no one was safe from this blinding oblivion. Beneath this mechanical steed snowflakes retaliate, a rebellion in our domain. This is a threat so ashen, so ancient, running far beneath our bones and into the cores of our souls, where hot blood runs cold. I am made of ice, transparent, still, fragile, and quite frankly in denial of the energy emanating, pulsating, ricocheting off my skin like snow and wind upon the road when we get too close, defying gravity, defying memory, defying me.