Poetry is like snow,
Which can be calm and peaceful,

slowly

falling

from

the

sky.

White purity, imagination is endless.
Create a world of angels and men.
Words rhyming, words changing, the paper is cold as ice.
White darkness, so cold it burns.

Quick!




Avalanche!
           An unseen turn of events!
                              Chaotic winds, and piercing hail.

                                                                               Rushing!

                          Down!

                                                                Fast!
No!
Stopping!








Poetry.