Climactic
The grins are the sins of the skeptics
The doors on the shores are open,
mere inches can turn into miles,
the grins are the sins of the skeptics,
clouded by careless smiles.
C’est la vie is not the key,
such is life is a poor excuse,
meanwhile the ice caps are melting,
taking millenniums to reproduce.
There’s a darker side to dancing,
who turned the lights out my dear?
I’ll hold you close you wiggle your nose,
don’t worry the end is near.
There’s a drop into black freezing water,
shards of ice creeping, ready to fall,
hold me I’m falling there’s no need in stalling,
the climactic creak squeals her last call.
Hold me tight and in spite of the night,
and the slide down the long slippery hill,
we soon separated and slipped away,
not of our own free will.
The dance in the dark is a figure of speech,
my partner is Mother Nature,
climactic are clues of the abuse and overuse,
and mans mixture of glacial failure.
The climax was slow in coming,
the final explosion never heard,
it started with black ice slipping,
and finished with a four-letter word.
©
David Rudder
23rd May 2020
Thanks for reading.
