Written by James Record in 2015.
A heart of frozen ice.
The ink in my pen too cold to flow,
A gloved hand too clumsy to write well,
A pen scratched outline leaves scars,
Where dark words should live;
A ghost; an impression;
These are the words I have to say to you.
Blank pages scare me more than my thoughts.
You may read my lips a thousand times,
And still not know what I am saying.
Your absence is as clear,
As this frosty dawn.
I cannot hear what it is you trying to speak,
With silent motionless lips,
When you hide beneath a winter’s outfit;
So warm and comforting.
Some days it becomes easier to hide;
Than face your demons of ice and stone.
Where is the soup to warm your mind?
And resuscitate your hypothermic body?
The ice that seals your tomb is not a permanent feature;
Of this crypt.
Instead it only takes a little warmth of friendship,
To melt away the icy bars of this prison,
And set you free into a spring of love and happiness.
Yet you turn down the thermostat,
And put another layer onto yourself,
A scarf to hide your face;
Or your shame?
There is no need to hide when your plum-red complexion,
And your rosy intellect,
Are fit for all to see.
Yet you choose a bed of stone,
As cold as the crypt you choose to sleep in.
This is not the way; you know that a warm reception,
Awaits only for you to bring back cheerful smiles.
There is no need to lie,
When we already know the truth.
There is no need to deny,
When you already have the proof.