Deep in my mind,

where thought dares not whisper,

lies a tender universe—

vulnerable to frequency,

expanded by pain.

That silent chamber within

is easily injured

by a freeway’s thunder

or the cacophony carried by screens.


Even the mere shadow of cruelty
causes my core to tremble.

As the world roars louder,

my soul longs
to be
as quiet as a star.

I turn to Astraea—

the last immortal
to walk beside us.
When man forsook harmony,
she withdrew,
wrapping herself
in sky

and solitude.

I yearn to follow her—

to become a luminous stone
on a slow, ancient path,
orbiting steadily
through vast,

sacred

emptiness.

I promise:
I will return
with the transmutation
of humanity,

when a new age
of morning
ecloses—
on transformed,
radiant wings.

by Madam Snowflake