To the Sculptor of the Snowflakes
And your creative energy
Felling frozen fragments of water
To rejuvenate me
Looking up into the morning sky
With no stars in sight to admire
I am left with these soft fluffy bits of ice
Wondering what they might inspire
No proof that they are anything
But gathered molecules of mist
Yet something in the way they come
Is the hope for which I've wished
The hope that there is more
Than just a randomness to life
That purpose and design
Might explain the day and night
I'm just an unconvinced skeptic
That wants more than happenstance
I want the very breath inside of me
To be more than cosmic chance
I may breathe my final breath one day
And still rest in the unknown
Yet I can go out with a smile on my face
Because of the hope you sculpted in the snow
© Ruby Neumann
Poet's note:
Painter of the Stars; Sculptor of the Snow… I think I am looking for a new label for the One I was raised to call "God". Maybe "God" isn't enough to define what I experience in my world now. Maybe, the names I need to embrace are not the ones I have inherited from countless religious traditions, but from how the Divine is being revealed to me.
And what can so threatening about that?
What other revelations or "uncoverings" will I experience in my next visit to my hot tub?
