The blaring news cut out

The blaring news cut out,

a sudden choke, no doubt.

Then dark, a thick, white shroud,

no single, cheering shout.

Just snow on snow, a deep soft hush,

each falling flake, a muted brush.

The streetlights blurred to sickly glows,

where only silence truly grows.

It isn't peace, this kind of still,

more like a weight, against your will.

A blanketing that takes all sound,

then presses it into the ground.