Ice floes, even those thick as the sky

Delicately balance on waters, cold and shy

The bland white canvas may be a saintly sight

It hides rugged crevasses in which life takes flight

We are many icebergs old

For each, part of the soul was sold

Wearing every thought as a crampon

The inconspicuous truth is stamped on

To cross the ocean, no need to suffer through a floe

Waiting patiently by the warmth of the inner glow

Fingers and toes turn into an anchor

Grabbing an inside tip given by the divine banker

The mind may float proud and high

While thoughts blurt out their war cry

Saintly at heart look for the waters, under the mind’s floe

Running deep, where the current of true love begins its flow