On a warm summer’s day, I sit
on thin ice,
scorning feelings of despair.
With a cup of coffee, I anticipate
one drop or two more degrees of heat
will make me disappear.
The view of my domain irritates me
covered in years of stains –
created by childhood lies.
I observe scantily clad women
hoping for a tourist’s empire.
The fisherman waits
for the cream to be gone
dragging home the rest,
skinning and deboning them,
breaking their once over-confident souls
‘Wait, stop, don’t go’ I shout.
I should have left it unsaid,
time will pass, they will disappear,
in Satan’s bottle with all the others,
I will never scoff, I will linger, day after day
in my empire of ice, welcoming those in
need of refuge.
‘Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than diseases of the body.’