March 8, 2015Poem
The Way Ice Burns
lossgriefnaturemusicpoliticsmemory
A hotel in the Cotswolds.
Hot
The way ice burns.
Lips tingling
From a single kiss.
Time
The way it moves,
Like a river,
Ever onward,
Never catching up
With itself.
Sometimes
Moving quicker,
Slower.
Creeping closer,
Inviting travel
With a promise
Of deeper understanding.
Sweeping us away
On the tide.
Floating, lost.
A river of souls,
Waiting for
Departure,
Looking to begin.
The way we turn
On a platform
When the train approaches.
The sense
Of anticipation.
New journeys,
Arrivals,
Discoveries.
People,
That fill our hearts with joy,
Hope and passion.
The look,
That smoulders.
Hot
Enough to last a lifetime.
Burning, in our hearts
Warming the soul
Keeping it safe
For journey’s past
And those to come
The way it goes
The route it takes
Whether we
Have control,
Or not.