The shape of ice and the soul of snow

The shape of ice blooms into the rainfall,
Like you to be trapped in spinning on a place.
When everything melts away in an organum to recall,
The soul of snow flows in my heart beats for grace.

A brand-new flame comes grand for shame,
As if bright from pain was there or embrace to erase.
The phrase increases the ruins with shade,
Where enfold me in my hour of a refrain to retrace.

Platinum breaths rise with fluffy and twist,
As if brilliant twice twirl spark drew my space of rebirth.
As always complexity converges phonetic.

The naked of pure white plums are floating at the branches and,
That shape throws spirituality and dances to freest the earth.
Is the real face an appearance made with eye-gaze cosmetics?