Ice Roses

Sometimes, ice freezes in roses.

Pristine petals veined with blue.

The breath of the cool morning instilled within-

It is not theirs.

A slice of life captured in eternity—

Trapped in death.

I pluck the frosty flower,

delicate between clumsy fingers,

and look into the depths

to find my heart reflected back to me—

layers of living flesh bound in bitter ice.

Stilled in the silence before a beat,

its melody pinned, stiff as a butterfly’s wing

beneath cool steel.

A heart that beats no more

and still lives.

But ice roses

cannot melt,

for in shedding their petals

they shed eternity,

peeling back like new skin

from a wound;

a wound that festers mortality.

And still, we peel back layers

with tentative fingers

that write our death,

seeking that brief flame that consumes us,

and is then itself engulfed in ice.

Sometimes, I tear away a petal,

For you.