The pallor of death is no protection
From the icy shroud that creates a tomb
And robs the sweet soul of all affection.
A false love, though broken, is truly felt
And freely given if not accepted,
Though it may not bring forth that springtime melt
May smile upon life and leave affected.
A heart that drips blood while fighting the thaw
Then falls into apathy at sunset
Asphyxiated in the ice queen's claw
Affection is spent and blood is the debt.
In twelve muted lines my story is done-
A lie to follow truth: life and love won.
A sarcastic sneer on an unwashed face,
So much sharper if it wasn't for
The tears left on skin to touch and to taste
Dripping as acid to spill to the floor.
Clear and probing eyes under a blank gaze
Flicker with fire though the surface seems cold
Mind twists, soon turning as if in a maze
To grasp onto the thoughts, to bend and fold.
And yet deep within this layer of a layer
Trapped between great sheets of reinforced hate,
A kneeling figure bent as if in prayer
Silent in a cloister of stifling fate.
There lies the key to the lock on the cross,
Caught up in sorrow and trapped within loss.