The Melt

Silent as statues, those giant icy calves
Lumbering in buoyant brine capping earth’s halves
Loyal to the cold, they melt if they stray
Islands of mystical solitude, it’s craved when we truly pray

Glistening eyes, speaking back to the sun, oases of freshness
They hold waters that are ancient, frozen and breathless
Every sharp edge an unforgiving cliff, if only the mind’s rim was as steep
The past would crumble and fall, outpacing tears which don’t come cheap

On those islands without anchors, roots cannot seek refuge
And words cannot be carved, time will simply refuse
The ice age has not gone childless
There are descendants, frosty bastions, cold and lifeless

When warmth fades, our boats leave their waters, what’s remains is them
And thoughts reclaim their lost silence, we’re left out, cold and numb
But there’s hope of a thaw that disperses frozen emotional waters
When we leave the mind, and its hospitality towards us squatters