Poems like winter, are cold and emotionless

They try to convey a fake feeling

A fake hope for a snow day

They are deceivers and mysteries

Like a blanket of snow that hides the ground underneath;

Poems cover the mood of the world

Both slow down the day

One the traffic, the other the heart

Both are loved, both are hated

Snow loved by those who wish to drown their sorrows in a day off

Poems used to drown the mind in madness

Yet, both are seen

Both are known

But are both more than thoughts of a curious person

Or are they simply a changing season

A phase, a cycle, a memory