Growing wall of glacial solidarity.
Nine inches thick and frosty.
Mirror of fear and irregularity.
Then it starts moving back to me.
Slow grinding along the floor.
Icy blades chip off in a minature war.
The ground howls menacing cogs in echos of clothes she once wore.
My reflection stares back at me innacurately.
There’s fear in a moment of inneficient capacity.
There’s no room to move or air to speak.
I grimace as that wall touches my feet.
Knowing what’s to come you’d imagine I’d think of hope or mum.
Not so, I was angry, tense, when had this thing begun?
I’d seen it years before in dreams of ripped seams and falling.
Later in echos of fears and warning.
In daylight times behind a voice that wasn’t mine.
Naturally I convinced myself it was all in my mind.
Ironic really that my ice has nothing to do with the cold, growing old, years of walking the long road with the same soles.
If anything it’s my own fault, a series of own goals.
There’s no excuses in the past, books I won’t start.
Lost friends or pains of the heart.
There’s no addiction in anything bar control.
If I’m on top there’s an illusion the world’s whole.
I need another spark.
Ignite a light.
Find a different path and give up the fight.
Allow myself time to relax without a voice.
Things I want for me, my choice.
No echos which go against reason.
No demonic references or wars against treason.
I’d let go, let it slip but my back’s against the wall and I’m going with it.
Icy pain burns into my eye socket as blood leaks, tickles down my face and cheek.
Compressed air, gasping, can’t move, barely there.
Freezing muscles, gushing blood now, a warm knee.
Crimson ankles, rising damp, warm pools.
Can I light the lamp?
The wall has stopped, Something’s faltered.
An inch off the top, it’s melting, altered.
Blood is warm or so it seems,
Can anyone hear my silent screams?
The minutes pass, I lay there smashing icy blocks that were everlasting.
The moral of the story: Give all you’ve got, you’re not moving forward.
You’re staying put.
Copyright G.P Williamson 2017.