PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sometimes the cold ceeps up on you. 

Freezes your blood to ice while coursing through your veins,

Makes your limbs turn to stone,

Petrified

As if under the horrible gaze of a medusa.

Face smoothest marble, 

Granite that hides and deflects the softer emotions,

The gentle ones,

The weak spots in your armor.

Chill, absent of feeling,

It is a state of un-feeling worse than the tumultous feelings themselves.

I would rather take the clamoring demands

Of my emotions and air them,

Let them scream upon the winds,

Drown themselves in their oceans of empathy

Than remain here a silent obelisk, a statue.

Yet I lack the autonomy to move my own feet.

My body does not obey my commands,

It's responses beaten and bred 

Into the very fibre of my body and spirit.

Damnable inaction and acceptance of fate!

Calm and still, the deepest lake.

If I could will my fingers, my hands, 

To rise and rip away my mask, 

They would.

If I could tear this fragile flesh to shreds,

Replacing inaction with movement, with freedom, 

Then, and only then,

Would I know peace.

Only then.