Arctic ashes

Ashes of ice rain down, soiling, blanketing my snowy white skin.
Each step recorded, the weight of the world imprinted,
absorbed into the light, collapsed into a hardened shell.
Street lamps are silenced, muffled, disguised, such brilliant light dampened by another force of nature.
So quietly I fall drifting through nameless shades of gray, shifting through winds and whirl winds, pulsing, lifting, my emotions sifting.
The gracious ground accepts my gifts of self, lightly resting on infinate layers of icey ash, becoming one with complacency.
The truth always known and ever ignored. The truth that the sun is coming, the fire is burning, the potentiality of our demise is ever reaching.
So I rest with these awkward peices and I lye with these lacey ashes, separate, united through future woes.
Cold and companioned I face up and fess up, one day soon I will return home. Taken to the earthly soil, transcending through this arctic air. Evaporated into the heavens, taken home.
This vision lives on, weathered by the elements, scattered with love, drifting, resting, all but contemplated.
Reborn through the sky, blank stars blinking. Risen from the depths of hell, this sober hopeless hope, one day taken to the tides of white and waves of gray.