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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Frozen In Place

Ash colored icy splendor
Surrounded my chariot of fire
Now encased in frozen fingers
Wriggled into every crack and carved bough

Almost I can make out it's shape
It's form so familiar
From the miles traveled in wide eyed wonder
With the world a splashing whorl of color going by

Gathering a wooden box chock full of tools
Fat dirty fingers pluck out what I need
A hundred year old chisel
And a goats head hammer

Turning once again to my immobile transportation
Chisel is applied carefully here
And not so carefully there
Penetrating the four inches of ice encapsulation

With just the right amount of stress added to the assemblage
I step to the front and pick out one particular spot
Marking it with an imaginary X in my mind
I raise the goats head hammer and let my arm unwind

Upon contact with the chosen spot
Ice cracks chase each other
Racing one another to where I cannot say
What with their racetrack of ice falling away

Left revealed in the sunlight
Sparkling amongst the birch trunks all around
My trusty conveyance crouches
Awaiting a single word

A mouth that feels like mine utters it
Causing gears and compressors to whine
Coming to life in the blink of an eye
Furnace catching fire so bright as to blind

Off we fly into the unknown
Out from this frozen landscape
Into the grey sky above
Till the clouds are below us
Cotton candy landscapes
To follow ever on