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Robert L. Martin

Frozen Beauty

Child of the frozen wind,
icicle of the boreal genus,
from sunny days and icy nights,
of innocence and dazzling charm,
seed of beauty and growing strength,
fruit of frozen gardens,
house of prisms and bending light,
angel eyes glancing through a maze,
seated high above the common site,
a sunken heaven above the eyes,
the handiwork of the master sculptor
standing erect with head held high,
with tears streaming down its spine,
an embryonic waterfall in a fetal state,
a rhythmic dripping on
the shimmering snow,
a mixing of the warm and the neo warm,
the innocent beauty of the frozen wind,
a sight of the splendor of the north,
 
a growing of the unattended frozen garden,
reaching the size of colossal proportions,
a natural beauty in its devious state,
a sight of a warm sensual cream
slowly moving down from a lofted eave,
a cascade of sweet angel tears,
a river rising from the earth below,
a missile in the devil’s arsenal,
a natural weapon from the master’s board,
a hovering above human gatherings
with its seven heads and seven horns,
a warning of the beast to come about,
a sudden death to those with gazing eyes,
the beholders of natural beauty
and the way she spreads her charm,
how she feeds off the boreal winds
and grows into a demonic lady,
a tiny icicle with catastrophic dreams,
a frozen beauty with deadly intentions,
a child of the devil’s breath.

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