The Statue

Here, within the softness

of the snowfall,

its allure may find me,

catch hold of me,

and gradually freeze my soul

into stone

There is innocence in the eyes,

my hunger almost mistakes it

for snowflakes

as white as the page

that begs to be

despoiled with a pen

I long to let go of

all cause for concern

and allow such hypnotic beauty

to consume me

so that I might soar

past the constrictions

of all things wasted

And land

within a smile,

a dusted white

bone-hard statue,

its thoughts

unknown.