Of your deceptions
And frigid environs
You can’t live among
Smiling faces and warm climes
You dance with the devil and
Disguise yourself with sure footing
Your surface is as
Smooth as a baby’s skin
As it glistens in the afternoon sun
And you gloat over your treachery
With falling bodies and smashing cars
You reach out and smother all the flowers
Until the last breath escapes from their home
The bees succumb to your frozen madness
And to your cold, cold hands
With nowhere to go but to bed
All vegetation turns to ash and you laugh
As if life were a toy for you to play with
And you were a child of the devil
Or a witch stirring up a deathly brew
Your slender bodies hang from the roof tops
And your perilous beauty glistens in the sun
While your spears point at
Those who pass underneath
As if you were sentries guarding the castle
You are alive when all else is dead
And you are dead when all else is alive
You live among the musty tombs
The cold, cold life that is not life
You are all dressed up in
Death’s finest raiment
You are the ice,
That beautiful deadly ice

Other works by Robert L. Martin ...