She’s passion set aflame
Wild free raw
thirsty for all that which
the world
is willing to give her.
She wants to feel that rush of adventure
Thrill of the unknown
Look through the glass
And take it all to heart.
Yet through all of this
She knows that nature
the flaws, the faults, the tendencies
And though she looks,
she has trouble finding
the
Sparks,
the ones for whom
Darkness falls
and still they glow
so lit and burning
are the depths
of their fiery souls.
She recognizes these souls
But in a world so impossible to comprehend
there are too few
and their fight
stands too small a chance.
She realizes this
And no doubt would it be far safer
to simply assume
a hard shell
of empty resignation.
But no
She sees
And with that sight
She feels
And she can’t stop searching
for that spark
a faint glimmer of fleeting emotion
just under the surface
which for so many is clearly
Not there.
She wants no more of it
as she wonders
For what is passion good for
If no longer
Can it be recognized
And if none but she knows of it
How can it really exist?
Yes
She should be crowned
Acquire cold words and a piercing stare
Freeze in wicked perfection
And become
So very very numb.
If only she were
The
Queen of Ice
Standing in the endless downpour
Feeling nothing
As she melts into a flooded sidewalk.
