Arrival

The white fluff,
That has covered the ground for
Months,
Since time began,
Has returned.
Death is upon us.
Cold,
Bitter,
Relentless temperatures.
Life will not last long.
Nonetheless,
The young tulip bulb has sprouted.
And even though it is the end of the growing season,
It still tries to grow.
Winter defeats it,
But come spring,
It comes back for a win.

Excerpts from Stubby Little Hands II

Stubby little hands,              
Covered in spikes.
Caked in doom.
Ready to stab.

Tiny, stubby hands,
With poison seeping out,
Every single solitary pore.

Care for a taste of the batter?

Stubby, petite hands.

Who know what they want.

Oh,

They know it well.

Stubby, little hands.

Waking up from a dream-

Or nightmare?

No- a nightmare.

Stubby, Little Hands

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
To grasp a hold of you,
And to never let go.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
Never getting far,
Always at the same level.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching down.
Or rather pointing down,
In defeat and humiliation.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
Once more.
Still getting nowhere.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
So intent on succeeding,
Such a pointless, worthless goal.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
Reaching...
Reaching ever so much.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
Just wanting,
A little affection.

Stubby little hands,
Reaching up.
Even in death,
To get the only thing ever wanted,
Which it never got.

They Always Come Back...

     It had been for some time that the area in which I lived had become known for something. This something, it was nothing more than...aliens. But not the aliens that people have come to think of. No, nothing like that.These little space inhabitants were too different to describe. They were less creepy, but more menacing in an odd sort of way. But on one winter-esque day, I decided to go to the surrounding woods to search for these little things. It had been long determined that they left for wherever before the first snow.
    I set out at around 11:00 p.m. I slid through the thick growth. Before long, I heard a shrill chatter. I peered through a bush, and before me on a hill, there were of those alien creatures. They were quite interesting to watch. They looked up at the sky, at the twinkling stars, and they pointed up, and jumped in excitement, almost in an "ooh aww" fashion. However, unlike an "ooh aww" fashion, they seemed to be expecting something. Constantly, they jumped up and down, shrieking shrilly, sometimes laughing. As more time passed, they become more excited. The jumped higher and higher, their shrieks got louder and louder. And then they opened their mouths and out came flashes of brilliant light. And after that, they continued jumping and moving violently.
    Before long, a small black speck started to fall down from above. It almost seemed as it was disintegrating. And all of a sudden, all 5 little aliens fell on their backs and laughed loudly. They seemed so proud and happy. Then they stood up, and the small black speck began to open up. It seemed almost like a tear in space time. And all of the alien thingies jumped in. But out of my foolishness and carelessness, I was spotted by the last alien. It smiled back with sharp teeth and gleaming eyes, and giggled loudly. Then it looked back once more and jumped into the rift. The hole then closed up, shot into the sky, and was gone. A snowflake fell on my hand. Good timing those little aliens have.
    On one rainy spring night, I went to shut the blinds of my room. When I opened the curtains back to do so, there on the roof was the alien. Smiling violently at me, showing its teeth. Giggling, without the sound. It giggled harder and harder and harder. Then it shot out its claws and started to slice throw the window. Lovely.
    The next day, I didn't have to turn in my history report.

13 Ways of Looking At Ice

I:
Ice is cold.
Bitter.
Relentless.
Merciless.
Indifferent.
II:
The transparency,
And pristine formation of ice,
Is a priceless sight.
Few compare.
III:
Ice is overlooked.
Ice is forgotten.
Yet it is so close to us.
IV:
Ice is the final chapter of a book.
Ice is the first chapter of a new one.
V:
Frozen crystals are imperfect.
The combined fibers of ice are imperfect.
Ice is perfect.
VI:
Ice is a great wall,
Seperating time and space.
VII:
Ice is gentle.
The fallen child is hoisted up,
And they take off again.
Memory seemingly wiped.
VIII:
Frozen water creates ice.
But ice is nothing like frozen water.
It is its own creation.
IX:
The serenity and tranquility that ice eminates is admirable.
It creates beauty,
Awes many,
And does nothing but be itself.
X:
Ice is a commendable adversary.
If its opponent does nothing,
And ice does nothing,
Ice is still fused with victory.
XI:
Ice brings people together.
It temporarily encases life's turmoils,
Within a solid coffin.
XII:
Ice-the purest mirror there is.
Look into its clarity,
And see who you really are.
Ice is not clouded by perceptions.
XIII:
Ice is so powerful,
Yet it shatters at the introduction of the slightest change.
But it will soon reform,
A little different, though.
Despite this,
Ice will always be ice.