Frozen Pines

I breathe air, stagnant, stale,

and bow my head to celestial Frost.

I tip my hat to his Eastern crown

but dare not accede from my Throne.

“Tell me sire, why have you come,

so sudden, cold—

on my doorstep and in my home?

And do you carry sticks

or cast stones?”

But he said no words and only stares for now,

spikes and crescents resting as

ice sickles above his brow.

And so I wait

for the avalanche to come down

with its white blankets to flood the ground.

I brace for Earth to shake and tremble the frozen, crystal pines.

I hold tight.

Thank you for taking the time to read “Frozen Pines.” If you enjoyed my work and want to read more, please check out “Panes of Glass,” which was featured as a Vocal Top Story!

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