Fire and Ice
A blood red sunset kindles icicle’s
into dripping scalpels.
As the light decamps and flares,
flickering impressions drift.
Shadows mime shadows.
There is a shape, a hanging man
imprinted on a tree trunk.
The silhouette flex’s,
head lolling, arms stretching
in the long reach of evening.
Ice crystals flame
only to die
under the heels of darkness.
I shudder,
as my noose twists in a night wind.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment