Tuesday, February 9, 2010


Jack Frost, his initials etched upon the glass.
A place to break, the heart's relapse.
The chill, the cold, sharp stinging skin.
Numbness, no longer only within.

Frail, fragile notes dance on the breeze.
silence broken by old ivory keys.
Black and white, no room for grey.
The mind commands, the hands obey.

Ice fairies glimmer, silver the sun.
Laughter below, the day nearly done.
Lacy ice patterns, crackle and sigh.
The beauty short-lived, they'll melt, then they'll dry.

Above all the faces, breathe in the still.
Laugh at the madness, cry at own will.
This is the place, you're allowed to feel free.
No one to tell you who you should be.

...Who you should love, what you should feel.
When you can cry, what can be real.

Let the relics be your friends.
The books with chapters, that never end.
Let the quiet, be your grace.

Trust His heart...

Let it be your soul, His fingers trace.

4 comments:

Richie said...

Amazing poetry Grace. I absolutely love the last line too. To let ones soul be traced by the fingers of another is almost never safe, except when it's with Him... Beautiful imagery.

Elle said...

beautiful.

Hannah Faith said...

hmmm, so this is what happened in porfolio?

GLB said...

haha....maybe.... :)