On my descent

 
 
I need to be a snowflake, because if I am not then I am but a bit of falling ash;  
 
spewed not from the soft wet embrace of passionate clouds
 
and instead from the violent and uncaring explosion  
 
that created the harsh and uniform gray blanket that covers this world.
 
I feel myself painted with the soot that has surrounded me my entire fall
 
but surely if I wash it away there will be sparkling whiteness underneath?
 
Surely under this monochromatic veneer is an icy faceted core?
 
I need to be a snowflake, because if I am not then I am like every other bit of ash
 
that thinks itself special.