Snow on Ruin

White flakes drift slow,

settling soft on cracked, peeling wood.

Rust curls around broken hinges,

a cold drip pools on chipped concrete.

Snow softens the edges,

makes a quiet blanket over ruin,

yet the ugliness still seeps through,

a stubborn stain beneath the white.

Crunch underfoot, slush melting,

a slow drip-drip marking time,

transforming decay to something strange,

a hush held tight by frozen breath.

The snow falls like a tired sigh,

a quiet hope that won’t last,

covering the broken, the forgotten,

just long enough to feel less sharp.