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.

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