She is pushed to the fire, or else frozen in ice.

everything becomes and incompleteness in time,

rushing forward to nothing,

passionately bored,

cursing the sunny morning and the the cool evening together.

Honorable stories are only stories

as the characters melt in the closing of the book,

inadequately painted

only the cover,

gold embossed letters screaming

of the haunted nunnery of catholic abandonment.

Time crawls and claws,

burying and mixing one day with the next,

isolated instants combined together in a hopeless drama.

Words spoken meaningless – explanation myth.

Heart stones and regret,

shadowy, somber, oils and water unmixed

and sickly held together.

Nothing is so large,

encompassing it all,

wishing to swallow and sleep,

the old dieing awake.

Changing inevitable,

yet resolution a dream.

Vision haunting, sight seeing.

Travel away,

awake for the dawn.

Can memories? Nothing.

She is inside the ice,

for lack of passion in which to abide,

and sickness rises up.

Faces are laughing, life a joke.

No more words come easily,

rules breaking constantly,

constantly breaking rhythms,

casting apart the sense of unity,

eating that ice,

and realization is the destructor,

desire grants discord,

hating, wanting then hating once more.

Difficult prayers, answering doubts.

Scream, please scream,

escape to that lost place,

see one more time the whispering voice

singing absolute words in ears listening for wisdom.

she is frozen.




2 responses to “Frozen

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