Meghan Smith
She never witnessed the blades grow green.
First experience emerged into the bright glow
Interrupted by cascades of bitter white
Enclosed in mercilessly numbing traps
Suffocating the conviction to exist;
Eventually the burning frost fades
Coarse brown mats linger in tangles;
The blades dark in the grasp of death
No touch of light seem to assist;
To be with no resistance.