Fallen

            My word was “fallen” from A Feast of Crows.

The only general idea I could come up with (—the night before the assignment was due—) was to write a poem. I have only very recently began to dwell in the poetry realm of the literature world, so this process still feels a bit off for me.

My brain associated the word “fallen” with snow, perhaps because we are currently surrounded in it during the peak of winter.

From the sea of clouds

an array of crystals begin to glide down,

for the air is falling subtly away from the heat

since the sun has reached its celestial peak.

They form divergent glittering expressions

as they drift through the sky’s icy dimensions.

They fall to the world below

in hopes of spreading their frosted glow.

But as their frigid skeletons collide,

the earth beneath it begins to cry.

The fallen arrangement covers everything that grows;

some can breathe through it, but most don’t know.