Veil of Ice

I sat down on the steps
at the front of my bland
high school, after stepping
candidly off the bus
just to see if or how
that boy (the quiet one)
would react to the look
on my deceiving face,
when a frigid breeze blew,
chilling me to the bone.
I'd left the house today
not with jacket nor coat,
for if I had stopped for
just a moment to get
one, I'd have missed the bus,
having woken up late
that nine-degree morning.
I felt it keenly now.
But as the cold wind blew,
I thought again of you.
It happens all the time,
but this time it seemed to
be somehow different.
Contemplating one of
those Philosophical
Moments I always seem
to get at such strange times,
I compared the frosty
wind to the way I feel
for you and all my past.
O, like strawberry wine
to the memory! I
can imagine the taste,
refrigerated and
rich to the point that it
seems almost unhealthy.
And yet it is bitter
sweet in the most fresh and
refreshing sort of way.
Like that glass wine bottle
which has frosted over
from overfreezing or
the burning winter's snow,
I look at this world, my
world, through a veil of ice.
With my chattering teeth
I've lived in this world, my
world, with perfect, flawless
façades that seem to be
so untouchable and
full of wolves' silent grace.
They fear me and yet they
are intrigued by the air
about me, drawn in by
the aura of myst'ry,
ominous, luminous
beauty with no beauty
at all, enhanced by shades
of black leather so soft
and so fatally strong.
Ever since you've been gone,
wherever you may be,
I look at you through an
icy spyglass in my
frozen heart, with my blue
soulless eyes as glassy
as my flurried ice storm
of a memory which
never stops bombarding
my mind with thoughts of
you and those that I love
with all my shattered heart.
I couldn't break the ice—
I swear I'll regret it
until the end of days.
Remembering your face
and the way you used to
make me laugh will always
burn a new hole into
me, and so I'll look at
the world, my world, through a
veil of ice, seeing all
of my reality
distorted, cracked, melted
and I'll pick up my books
and I'll keep moving on
and ev'ryone will see
the ice in my tired eyes,
but no one will suspect
that I see through it, too.

Author's Notes: My usual bitterness, but in a very different format than what I normally use! Wow! ^_~ There are six syllables in every line (or, at least, there should be), and I've used as many ice analogies here as I did in Of Ice. This stuff actually happens, too—I do think about things like that. Ice and memories...oh boy. ^_^;
For those of you who have read my work before, the person I'm referring to when I say "you" is the usual one I write about, and the "quiet boy" is the one I'm talking about in Check and Ask. If you haven't read those two, I recommend it—they'll help you in understanding this poem a little better.
Well, I don't know exactly what else to say about this! If you have any questions, e-mail me at and I'll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know (within reason; come on now, people!). ^_~ Thanks for taking the time!
~Mistress Jakira
Date of Composition: May 23, 2002 (p.m.) to May 24, 2002 (a.m.)