Ice People
the sweetness that was once wheat pollen that blew in the wind is no longer here to stay
and the light that guides the path no longer shines the way
as time freezes over the world is locked in a season of death
the finch sings its last song as the sad flute takes its breath
the chimes dances to the rhythm of the whispering wind
and each whisper carried can slice through silence.... paper thin
the scrap heap of mortal memories ends with human misery
and the damage inflicted by a cold heart leaves no trace of ancestry
the lines are severed by guilt and despair
the good seeds are the children of the kingdom but the bad seeds are the tares
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