Riukhin
The murky snowstorm
Spirals furiously around me.
My vision is obscured by a white scarf.
Day brings more agitation than repose,
The only constant seeming to be
Searing barrenness, and,
Blinded by it, I've long abandoned
Any means of escape.
Surely I won't be groping for an eternity;
There has to be something more
Than this plateau,
But I'm beginning to wonder
If I could bear to live with
The idea of having chosen a
"Fruitless path."
They say my descriptions are lacking, but
What makes a poet anyway?
Can you identify one at first glance?
I absorb my surroundings greedily,
Omitting nothing, and yet,
I'm still unable to capture the world around me.
If only I could commit to an idea,
Or translate but a detail!
Enraptured,
I claw at snowflakes
That are better left alone, and
Opportunity dissolves right before my eyes,
Leaving nothing but
Unoriginal, hollow muck.
White billowing lips
Twist into a mocking smirk;
Flustered, I thrust my wet hands
Into my pockets.
Melting, running, the evidence soaks
Through the front of my coat,
And I can no longer play
My aberrant resilience off as being unaware.
Again, the sun heaves itself irrestibly
Over this hostile desert,
Except this time,
I haven't risen to meet it.
Alexandra Jadick '28 [bio has been lost to time!]