A Snow Queen Tale
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Well, folks, this is the entire tale. I have editted it a bit and ended the last few parts. I hope you enjoy.
Part 1: FORE SIBERIAN FATE
silk wings wet -
angel on the lake.
starlight glitter
separates from
the golden wheat.
her docile hair,
prophecy of ice.
winter pink,
pinched cheeks.
ice skate scrapes -
flecks of flakes.
the snow queen
before her relentless
reign, a pretty thing.
her smile warms
the water, her eyes
true glacier blue.
Part 2: APOCALYPSE
glacier blue eyes
thunder,
icy waves surprise
the tow.
it goes under…
homemade flakes,
bitter bite of
solid shards,
assails the wicked night.
it’s her laugh
that shackles the wind,
splitting islands,
toppling icebergs.
her marionette claws
control the climate.
her blades precisely
suffer the ice.
mercurial avalanche.
thermometer drops.
children burrow
under blankets.
atmospheric fear.
dry lines, etched
into the snow-white canvas.
Part 3: COLD SHOULDERS
entrenched in idiopathic insanity
a steadfast echo
‘he lied...he lied’
when she could cry no longer
her tears crystallized,
her iceberg eyes - epic blue.
friends’ cold shoulders
like disembodied shrugs.
misery she cannot shake.
one thing she managed
to stand over mountain peaks
graceful with siberian tiger teeth,
shoulders perfectly rounded.
her slight figure wrapped
in majestic blue -
the raw color of her bondage.
curiosity of wool-white hair.
she often dallied with it’s softness,
in the mirror.
it could fall to her feet in umbrage,
or be whipped up blizzard-like -
placated as a braided crown.
‘the fool - he hides!’
she tortures
any reminder of his
kind eyes, warm smile,
kissable lips.
Part 4: NO ONE KNOWS
she bleeds deep inside -
a cavern of stalagmites.
her warm heart plunges
into an echoing abyss.
‘no one knows…’
sharing would be death.
and so she’s buried
that bloodied embryo,
in the gallows grip of fate.
he’d promised her
silver, gold, diamonds and pearls.
he’d promised her forever.
she sought his child.
she’d only sire sorrow.
thus fate would kick her to the ground.
he didn’t know his seed lay in her soil.
a fist of fury would pummel all dreams.
there’d be icy jewels where eyes pretend.
her clairvoyant blues burn
for her unborn son.
her innocence lost in her north pole irises.
she’d not even pause
to release him from the grave.
evermore, she’d cradle,
the doom in her womb.
she live for him. the queen
vowed to find the absentee father.
she’d make him pay, then she’d shatter.
spine trembles
as the wind howls
with increasing fury...
Part 5: DESPERATION
a tomb buried under snow.
the villagers wear eskimo overcoats.
unaware that despair drives them ever colder...
stern snow whips at lashes and outstretched noses.
no longer playful little snowflakes.
the tongue cannot endure the sting of ice.
knees tremble through compacted snow.
shovels a commodity – crippled
wooden handles splinter and break.
those near the equator
also shiver and shake.
Their tormented orb hangs
precariously in the darkened sky,
as the villagers wonder out loud, “why?!”
(the snow queen has seasonal rests.
she collapses upon her slab of stone.
her mind in requiem - cold and comatose.)
villagers furiously plant,
chop, eat everything green.
winter has no habit.
it comes and goes with caprice.
committee selected to search out answers
“when and where did this insanity start?”
“is there a who or a why?”
they fret not over words,
for emotion has become their friend.
Part 6: SNOWMEN AT ARMS
contact made, with each icicle tap on a man’s shoulder.
just in case of age or disguise, she examines the
face, the eyes, the expressions of love and hate.
she shakes the women, wraps serpentine around their
waists, jealous of their size, their youth, virginity.
each child she doth despise. her own would be greater,
more talented, more handsome. in the winter’s mind
these ideas greedily sold, like the shape of a perfect flake.
snowmen armed with icicle spears ready to go to war.
the village that lends itself to this selfish man will pay.
its walkway would become snow-covered gravestones.
the one thing that makes her frozen lips curl upwards -
the thought of death. her heart of stone does not beat.
it bears down like an athlete’s barbell sitting upon her chest.
she seems wretched and regal atop her empty sleigh.
like an eagle perched, ready to swoop down upon its prey.
Part 7: THE RECKONING
he laughed when she found him,
“snow looks good on you,”
humor bit her in the jaw.
he had no remorse for his sins
“why you were just a pitiful lass.”
“look at you now, much lower class.”
he grinned, serpentine smug.
and she saw her coldness reflected in his eyes.
‘what had she become? his queen?’
an ice queen, indeed!
the child she lost, forever ago,
bled onto the death pallet of snow.
her inner ego humbled.
not before him!
but before mankind...
she recognized the epitome of evil
and once again, saw her own shards in his eyes.
she didn’t blink,
just stared until he broke,
splinters from his icy mirror of glass.
a minute ember felt in her unbeating heart:
‘they could never forgive me’
‘winter will fade away’
‘the best i can bless them with is spring’
‘they will wonder where i’ve gone,
but should not spend one second on that thought’
‘i shall leave reminders
in the stars,
in the trees,
in hidden caves,
not of myself,
but reminders of how to love.’
‘that’s the best i can do, not for me...forget me!’
and winter turned into spring, with lovely things,
until the people needed autumn and snow.
cookie cutter shapes of hearts, diamonds, and
lucky clovers in blue, orange, yellow, red leaves.
and love could be smelt again in honeysuckle,
roses, lilacs, sweets, and fresh-baked bread.
in caves they’d find no more war. just joy
and happiness of families holding hands.
filling their hearts with pregnant joy,
turning them away from jealousy and hate.
a time so great...and somehow the snow queen’s heart
beats from far away, far below, forgotten but unfrozen, still.
The End
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2017
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