What language do I speak?
My words glide over the surface of rock hard ice. Frozen time. Frozen mind.
I see ears and I see heads. My words fly towards the heads and ears. They fall down as snow. A gathering pile of diamonds melting down the drain.
What language can I speak that might be as daggers that pierce?
Love thy neighbor as thyself has echoed since the Fire. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and do not unto others what you would not have done unto you is an internal fiber of being.
How deep the frosty wind of death has Frozen the breath around the soul like a shell of ice. How long has his work endured? How many millenia of whispers spoken into the ears and accepted as an apple for life?
A light dagger. Words like plasma, let that be my language. Fire melts Ice but unless Ice has a Fire core there may be nothing left.
O, Icy Lake, when the dagger reaches your core let it merge with your heart and let it burst in to flame. Let the Ice melt quickly and wash away the lies.
By Kim Mayfield