Frosted Blades


Frosted blades scratch seamless sky,

angry to find no scars.

Serrated edge draws no blood,

nor sawing motion, vein;

Wind is no ally

when renewed rigour

results in naught.

Pain pitched at a hushed heaven

grows boomerang eyes;

the spy’s sabotage

skilfully dissects

along lines traced by rote.

Silvered cycle,

shameful circle,

drawn by frosted blades…

11 comments on “Frosted Blades

  1. Eric says:

    I really love this one, Melody! ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. Debbie says:

    I liked the line “pain pitched at a hushed heaven.” Thank you , Melody!

  3. RoSy says:

    If only we could have the look of winter with the warmth of summer ๐Ÿ˜‰

  4. Nice work I wish sometimes I had your vision

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