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.

Purity

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

for Easter.