Julian Scutts Poet Free verse

Here Lies But Ice

In dream or in vision,
the difference not knowing,
I was taken hence
to a plain of ice
where every blast
cuts deep into the flesh,
where the archangel  white
with the tips of his ten icicles
stops all that flows –
water and blood and time.


I saw a man,
a man it seemed to be,
half-covered by sheets of ice,
who sighed:

“I had a son,
the wind says he lives still,
and he himself has sons.
Warn them for me.
Let them not also come
to this place of suffering,
where the limp sun
lacks strength to live,
or die. 

They must never come to this plain,
whatever siren voice they hear
sing songs for possession
of a fair green land.

Here lies but ice.
Here lies but fallen snow

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