The north wind did not manage to wipe away the sin from the tormented body
tried desperately to dress the naked, ruthless wind penetrated the marrow
in a shout of chills
hands trembling like leaky branches
the cramp was thrown back into a dark room
in a childhood friend described
the pale blue cold whispers stubbornly
sucking the power out of whining body
to pass
to recreate
a virtue buried
It was you and your intrusion that created the image
firmly etched shape of an icicle
Yes, scream the chorus in fierce heart’s struggle
It was the rebel in an infrastructure that took the sharpened pen
similar to a historical form
in a war that began

and never ended.