"Icicles of Pain"

© Olga Allen 2002

What we can do with icicles of frozen pain,
is just what makes the difference
between wholeness, bruising or indifference.

Some take the icicles and use them as weapons,
piercing the sky's skin,
and leaving gaping, weeping wounds.

Some turn away, pretending not to know,
indifferent to their denial of bitterness.
A cynicism covering a growing icy desert.

Some hold their icicles against their beating hearts,
until they melt and long held tears roll over cheeks,
unashamedly admitting they are but human.

And for the Grace of God they go,
hold out their hands to touch the weeping sky,
mending torn threads in vuln'rability...