Dead, White, & Beautiful All Over

This wind reaches right through
Grabs me cold inside, and alive
This snow falls just like we do
Hastily, or swirling
Even falls up
All grace
As long as it waits, drifts
Only to be trampled underfoot

Already dead, just like that
Love the air, swirl
Spin just like the snow
Melt as soon as you touch
Fall in love with wind's caress
Cut though it may
Grab you cold inside, and alive

Can't live in the cloud and all four winds at once
Dead in all those moments past
Only snowflakes,
Dead so many times over
Could be so cold, graceful
Only to melt as soon as you touch
Only to be trampled underfoot
Only in this way so beautiful
Frozen, falling
Dying gracefully a million times.

In a bald mood?

What kind of title is that for a web page?

My head is full of those thoughts that I sometimes have articulated. They form, as usual, lines, stanza, accent and rhyme, indent here, italicize. But they're not new anymore. I know they never were, but this time my thoughts are old and even I have written them over and over in the same lines, till there's no paper left for all the scratching and the damn ink.

So I'm not going to write anything about them this time. I think I'd rather just listen to some music and let those thoughts run themselves out of breath. My mind is tired of it.

So this time, between the lines is where they'll stay, where I've always kept them. With no new lines to hide between, they've either got to stay back where they were, change, or die.