This is a bit of a strange poem, so I feel I should give a tiny explanation. When I wrote this poem, I was writing about something that was happening in front of me. And not wanting the people involved in that situation to think I was writing about them, I wrote about a very mundane object; a rock.

Tiny Glacier

A rock,
A cold icy rock,
Grey, dark, cold.

A rock you can throw at people,
Bleeding, hurting, killing.

What is with you rock?
Why do you hurt people so?
It slips

Don't trust the rock,
The rock is a liar,
Fire, kill the rock with fire.

Don't touch the rock,
The rock will freeze and burn your hand,
Cold, searing, pain

Scorching your soul.
The rock doesn't want to be touched,
Not by you,

The rock wants a cold dead hand,
To match its cold dead heart,
A hole, drop it in a hole.

Wasting time,
Tick, tock, tick,
Watching the rock.

See it freezing the ground around it,
Ice seeping into stone,
Degrading, eroding, falling.

You can't kill the rock,
The rock is invincible,
How do you kill the rock?