Sunday, May 2, 2010

Lifecycles, Icicles

The past comes washing back to me
like waves of fear and pain.
Its rivulets wash over me,
irregular as rain.

It rattles me as loudly
as it might a roof of tin,
freezing my emotions soundly
as it turns to ice within.

It takes some time to thaw me.
once the freeze is gone;
the heat but slowly gnaws me,
and I but slowly warm.

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