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A Forest of Ice
The branches stood covered in the frozen rain
My hand ran smoothly along the tortuous path of ice on the branch
Each twig that branched away held a raindrop, suspended
I never saw a drop fall, it’s shape: unchanged
Silence, sweet silence resounded around me,
except for the pitter pat of the drops from the grey above
No soul stood outside
How impenetrable the forest seemed
Covered by the ice, its sole guard against any outsider, even the rain
The rain that would cover it, and shield it more
An outsider, foreign in every way
Some think they can break through the ice
Are branches not flimsier with their walls of water?
Destroy the tranquility with a blow
A field of thorns, glistening through the ice, points glowing in spite of the dull light
This stood to my left, a cleared path to my right
A kick, to see if those are right
There was no pain, the thorns were weak
But it dragged me into its sharpened depths
I wrenched away
Maybe some ice clattered to the earth from my blow
But the tranquility was unbroken
Even during my struggle, the icy bystanders remained tranquil
Maybe the thorny mass was changed
It’s changed form was still tranquil
Silence, sweet silence
Icy fortress that guards thee
Cloaked by the grey and the quiet and the cold, that you have made
Ding. Dong.
I walked back through the rain
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I wrote this after walking through the icy forest in my backyard. The poem can be interpreted in multiple ways. Firstly, as a metaphor for humanity and the division between the classes. Secondly, the reader could consider the beauty of tranquility and tradition.