Poem: iceberg, Pic: Strange eye self portrait

Believe me.

It’s what I’ll never tell you that means so much.

Mocking.  Cut me down.

But it is only the tip of the iceberg you are seeing.

Don’t expect a bushel of sharing.

Not even a peck for a kiss.

You’d have to build castles in my clouds

before I would ever

bring my drawbridge down.

Open-armed children grow armour

once upon their dreams get ripped.

Believe me.

You’re a lifetime commitment to use and abuse

for days that have already passed on.

Believe me.

The iceberg drifts slowly.

Strikes surely.

Chip off some ice for your glass of vodka.

Icebergs drifts slowly.

Their mass is below the surface.

Barren.

There is nothing here for you.

Unless you can build

An ice palace

In my clouds.


I’m just going to call the pic strange eye because that is what my daughter said first when she saw it.  Ha ha.   But it had me in mind of an iceberg visually if turned on the side and it had a forbidding, don’t come near, look.

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