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Icicles
December 17, 2015
harsh lights blind the faded eyes.
reflecting glares off metal icicles.
whisper frozen memories to a calloused mind
turned stone by the cold that grows from remorse
and hate
like repetition
like a ghost
haunts
and fills the soul with tormenting thoughts
like roses dipped in blood to dye red
die when left to dry in the sun
because light draws life from
hope
becoming nothing more
than pain
when there is nothing to replace
the ache
for simple dreams and pure desire
the innocent
are crushed
and left to rot in the rain.
© Lindsey D., Marblehead, MA
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