01/27/2026
LOG NUMBER: AV02
EDWARD SNOWED IN.
A beautiful rendition drifting into the dosâdeuce doohickey,
a winter hymn wrapped in white silence.
As I sit here beneath what feels like the heaviest snowfall in a thousand years,
I watch time settle like frost on the bones of memory.
Oh, how the ages have shifted.
What once stood as temple became fortress,
and what became fortress slowly surrendered to decay.
The foundation was poured deep,
but left to weather,
left to wither,
left to whisper its own forgotten gospel.
An eighteenâyear contract rewritten by a fifteenâyear revelation â
and I still ask the sky:
Was it slow evolution that bent the line crooked,
or was the script carved long before I found my book?
Dreams I once spoke in trembling tones rise again,
shaking the snow from my shoulders.
It was all written here â
old testaments in the old book â
and all it took was one last look.
You were the Bishop.
I was the Rook.
Two pieces moving through a blizzard of unspoken truths.
All the secrets you held close froze into psalms beneath the ice,
and when you walked away,
the silence cracked like a frozen river.
If it wasnât about the money,
then explain the books,
the farâoff visions,
the direction you swore was divine.
Now, when our eyes meet,
I feel the cold shift â
you looking down,
me standing steady â
not to bury you,
but to bury the root that rotted,
so something cleaner might rise from the thaw.
I found my forgiveness.
I plant it like a seed beneath the frost,
hoping it sprouts in spite of the winter,
so one day youâll stand beneath the branches
of the truth you once tried to prune.
And maybe â just maybe â
from that holy vantage point,
Iâll learn how to wholly love you again.
- Amos
