As canvas runs with melting snow,
Winter slinks to earth below;
evaporating paint expires
when Springtime stirs with warmer fires.
Ever since you stepped into the Light,
your true colours are leaching out,
bleeding filth onto what you tried to convince yourself
was pure as the driven snow.
is only relative;
compared to your earth-bound buddies,
you held your mask well.
But meeting Spring has a way of
stripping away the ruse,
the snow job pulling the wool over your own eyes.
Let it go.
Let it melt under these revealing rays;
let all you gripped with such bloodless fingers
soften and dissolve
into the dust it always was.
Only then can you abandon the scam of your innocence
to embrace the singular purity of invisible Light,
Sun whose rays reveal the need