Icicles

It’s quiet
No words just shards
Dripping from my lips
Like icicles
Falling down
Making a pretty sound
But no sense
That springs to mind
       Just drip-drop-dripping
Onto the page
Forming strange shapes
Like frost flowers
Painted by a mad elf
Words that sometimes
Come gently
       Just drip-drop-dripping
Onto the page
Making patterns
Clearing the mind
Now they are frozen
Just cold and hard
Spiky shapes
Unwieldy and resisting
       Just drip-drop-dripping
From my frozen mind
Holding no relief
Giving no sustenance
       Just drip-drop-dripping
Like icicles
Falling down
       Just drip-drop-dripping
Making a pretty sound
But no sense.


© Sybille Sterk
Do not copy or publish this poem in any way shape or form without my written permission.

Icicles

Sybille Sterk

Joined July 2009

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Artist's Description

Poem… It’s soooooooooo cold outside…


MCN: CM7FG-ND48R-1W66Y

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