Cold Acts

Cold Acts

To stand back, observe... or take action?
for the things that I've yearned for an age
Everytime that I think I've gained traction,
black ice forms underfoot on the stage

Losing footing in cold winter seasons
and summery sessions alike,
such black ice, often forms for strange reasons,
rending it harder to strike...

with each passing blow a brave gamble,
well to me, that's at least how it seems
Even casual glances, slight ambles,
seem so crucial to mountainous dreams

Overthinking past steps... they are haunting,
when spirits and souls don't ring true
Perhaps if the climb seems too daunting,
then perhaps that range isn't for you

But the mind doesn't like scripts so simple,
the heart doesn't let go of dreams,
with bodies left barren, cold temples,
we oft' worship alone in our schemes

Worshipping solo through seasons,
impromptu, black ice plays its part
Scripting edits, for all the wrong reasons,
so jaundiced, a yellow drawn heart

Sketched out from the most favoured angle,
for lovers of art, so macabre,
Stretched shades of gray lines, in a tangle,
'midst sharp colours, intrusive and barbed

Hooked for those cold winter mornings,
with such edits in scripts, loved... well planned
Thin black ice so sporadically forming,
... when you're not really sure where you stand