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I Am A Poet

Crimson Trophies

Frozen ground drinks
warm offerings
of a battered heart.

Hungerily sipping
the essence
of a dying love.

For a fleeting moment
frost soften greedily accepting
loves sacrifice.

Clutching every drop
of its crimson trophies
with frostbitten fingers.

Proudly displaying
within ice crystal casings
Its most precious prize.

true loves dying imprint.

And loves agonizing screams
echo across frozen wastelands.
only to be heard by the deaf ears
of cold space.

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