It's impact hit and ran ongoing tremors though every day that I wake.
|Image of Berlin Ice People exhibit found at Pinterest|
I'd like to remove it and live apart from that spring of sadness with its hurt of heart.
I'd like to ignore it but it keeps turning up, like Impossible glitter on a brow or
undefined residue in a cup.
It can't be un-lived.
It is what it was.
It should be long gone,
but it lingers in every pause.
It stings like lemon juice in a paper cut.
It's not a mortal wound, but one that I've had quite enough.
If I could take hold of that moment I'd move it out into the sun;
to see what comes of it's unfreezing and perhaps find it transformed into a helpless puddle -
now on the run.
Unfrozen and melted may this moment be,
so that tomorrow at sun rise I'll
be set free.
T.L. Eastman Copyright September 2015