Well, the mermaid legacy may have to wait because I got a little sidetracked. Okay, I got a little caught up in this period of my fairytalish life that there is some stark beauty in pain. Like, its really so sharp and precise, and so beautiful...like an ice sculpture! Its so pretty but when you touch it, you feel like you're getting a frostbite. And I think that grief is beautiful...and even if it hurts, it still is. :P
It's freezing cold, cold as ice.
Eternally dark, no sight with eyes.
A black hole so deep, nothing can reach.
So silent that not even a siren's voice can beseech.
It's an ice palace, no cloth, no bed.
Hard, unfeeling like a new clay slate.
Sharp, jagged icicles hung down with menance,
Towering over me, the soulful tenant.
It's a deep dark cave, kilometres beneath,
The dry pleasant surface shows no nothing.
There are no candles, no warmth, no light.
When you go in, the only option is to fight.
It's a mask, all gold and silver on the outside.
Underneath its surface, it simply hides,
The brutality and monotone of the owner,
Who rarely smiles, mysterious with wonder.
It's that abandoned house, on the corner by your right.
Empty, desolate, the eeriness of the night.
Nothing's left in there, not even a memory,
No recognition, not much of a salary.
It's a dusty drain pipe under the granite,
Drained with too much water until it dies.
Even then, the rust is washed away,
Leaving nothing but empty space.
It's cold and frightening and I'm scared.
Of facing it, even when I'm with my friends.
It's too quiet for the song of a lark,
And somehow, I think...that It's my heart.
Do you think its okay??I mean, this isn't part of the poem...but is it weird??