A Wall of White: A Winter Poem by Mary Lou Meyers

When Mary Lou sent me this poem, the title reminded me of our trip to Alaska.
This is a photo of a glacier, a wall of white, taken from the deck of our ship.

The wall of silence is most beautiful

but compressed like a Testament

at its most cumbersome best,

cool and yet cruel but neglected,  it rules.

But why not the Human body, no fool

to such encroachments.

Which has a soul in it?

Snow is a welcoming fleece,

the trees naked without

its comforting coat it leases,

the streets which harbor dirt and disease

are snow driven now,

and the walkways which lead to the house

no longer pronounced with guidelines

so we can stay secure

behind its barriers

writing the poems

which will lead to serenity and a pensive life.

A white snow-scape so immense and consequential

as if it seems to cover the Earth

with its triumphant bloom,

like a opaque tablet ready to burst into view:

as if to hide the Despair ,

a whiteboard where nothing

but trees are scripted there, but

the  branches are imprisoned now,

but how easily they escape the embrace

with just a hand hold to shake them up

or more direct, a stick

which makes short-shrift of the snow.

Would that it were so easy

to eliminate the body’s heaviness,

nowhere to go in the depth of it,

But skis have a lightness to them

flirting with the ground,
but never bogging down,
but snow-blinded and undermined.

How your life is illuminated in the sunlight,

but here it is absorbed by the white.

The abyss that snow is,

never at its level best

for it flirts with Death;

with only one misplaced stone defacing  it

can create an avalanche

that scours the landscape;

or like a broad frozen desert

which inundates our lives

while we look for release

surcease of anguish,

but none is in sight

until the sanctimonious sun

climbing slowly in the sky ignites

freeing our pent-up body and mind.
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