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Updated on April 5, 2010




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.


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

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.











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    • lisa brazeau profile image

      lisa brazeau 7 years ago from Canada

      I could feel the ice!