Falling Softly

I wrote this for a friend¬†one afternoon in early January. I had only written a couple poems before that and didn’t have any real plan for what I wanted to create. It was snowing and I was thinking about my time in Paris so I combined these two elements with some of the themes in an old villanelle I had created for my Lit 201 class several years back and came up with something new and quite surprising. At some point I may revise it, but for now I will leave it as I finished it that winter afternoon.

The snow was falling softly
As I looked out the door.
There was no one to speak of
Walking these hallowed streets of lore.
An emptiness once unforeseen
Now filled me through and through.
With heavy heart and hand
I put on my shoe.

I stepped out to greet
This unsettling sight,
And soon began to wonder
What would become me of my plight.
For the secret was out there
To this beautiful life,
If I could just find the answer
It would end all my strife.

I walked towards the Arc
With the Tower in my sights,
And found it with ease,
Much to my delight.
Its grande mass before me,
I took it all in
And remembered the absence
Of all the great din.

No cars to congest,
No people to recreate,
Just a monument and a man
For life to liberate.
I finally began to find
In this dark city of Light
The beauty and peace
Once lost in the Great Fight.

With darkness coming quickly
And snow blanketing the ground,
I left the great triumph,
Without making a sound.
I passed by alleys and corridors
And through a garden full of trees.
I found myself at the Tower
And fell to my knees.

The secret was near,
The secret was there,
The secret was here,
It was everywhere.
There was nothing to hide
And nothing more to be,
But a man calm inside,
Left standing by a tree.