Splintered.

 

Splintered.

 

His eyes become
icicles cutting
dagger sharp
they lock in
cold venom.

 

Like old man winter

he leaves your

soul splintered

into a thousand

bits of hail

and hearty

no more.

 

His frosty glare,
chills all  hope
as his head
turns away,
leaving you with
a broken he-artic.



Frigidly

you exit
the door
he slammed
seconds ago,
freon the streets
once more,
as a single

snowflake
graces your

wet lashes.

 

A world

without love

is a bitterly

cold place

that last moment

frozen in time

gleaming diamondlike

in the darkness

of your soul.

 

 

©-MFB III

 

 

 

 

 



 

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lisa brazeau profile image

lisa brazeau 6 years ago from Canada

I could feel the ice!

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