Chapter 29, Verse 2: Thaw

Greetings Space Travelers from the heart of the Snopocolypse. President Obama perfers to call it Snomageddon, but I think he secretly likes Snobama (either way, I think this means somebody in his office reads twitter and briefs him). SnOMG appeals to my nerd background, but ultimately the b-boy in me has a sweet spot for the Snowtorious B.I.G. Anyways. All this snow got me inspired, and when inspiration strikes, it's like blizzard. Words, like snow flakes appear, but how much falls, and how much sticks in the end we just have to wait and watch.

We all want to be the snowflake that falls last.
We all want to be the one that lays on top,
and sparkles in the dusk light.

We all want to be situated on a perfect drift of snow,
far from the pedestrian foot path;
far from being trampled;
far from the the filth of the
shoes and tires
traveling fast
with no care to take in the beauty of a
picture perfect snow-scape.

We want to be untouched, and appreciated from a distance.

We don't want to be a part of someone else's design;
their half-assed snow man;
their snowball busted and melting against a warm car window.

We want to be emergent and beautiful,
and we want to be the
last
to
thaw.

Let it snow Space Travelers.