My heart
a block of sculptured ice
buried deep behind
steel ribs
hung with icicles
offering dagger sharp protection
An arctic palace
of empty chambers
where glacial winds
flash freeze unwanted feelings
blow them deep into dungeons
blood is crystallized
in frozen nitrogen veins
heartbeat slowed
like a wound down pocket watch
My dreams haunted nightly
by my dead
again and again
they appear
bright cheeked
vibrant
unaware. . .
or perhaps unconcerned. . .
by their fates
They murmur
that I am the ghost here
rendered translucent
thin
insubstantial
from years of suppressed grief
They whisper in my ear
to remove the splinter
from my eye
that blinds me
to myself
these truths
it is time
they say
to examine the shape
the sharpness
of my grief. . .
that spring thaw
is long, long overdue
Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a writer and…
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Thank you for the reblog my friend! You have been missed.
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Fantastic work ⛅. Glad to be back 🖤😁
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