Permafrost can go
As deep as
2 miles into
The earth
Way down there
Are these plants
Still alive and
Waiting to be
Discovered or
Thawed out

There's all this
Living stuff
Underneath us
Just waiting to bloom

What if Creator
Was not so grand?
What if Creator
Was a grain of sand?
What if Creator
Was simply bland?

Would we glory in death and ******?
Would we pretend we never heard Her?
Would we love each other more?
or
Would we open a Sacred door?

If Creator were nothing more
Than all the electrons ever formed,
Creator would be:
Timeless, Infinite, Omniscient, Everything, and More…

Would we accept a notion like this?
Would fundamentalists balk or twist?
Would Atheists be found or lost?
Would we freeze in permafrost?
Would we seek Divine ballet?
Would we still kneel to pray?

Or would we:

War some more?
Ignore some more?
***** some more?
Work some more?
Explore some more?
Invent some more?
Love some more?
Or just ignore?

Would our lives even change?
Would we still call someone strange?

Would we even miss a beat?
Would we ever try to cheat?

Would evil men change to nice?
Would we still farm our rice?

Would a killer give a hug?
Would any of us do a drug?

Would our lives remain as cheap?
Would we never awake from sleep?


I don’t know.

Remain complacent and confused
Content to be lost
With a heart that stirs
In the permafrost
Run on through the empty streets
Hands open
Eyes closed
Breathing in the cool air
Growing numb from the cold
Still don't let your heart thaw
You'll feel one beat and then another
Warmth so different from the frost
Just the thought it makes me shudder

I was burnt once before
Dark hot fingers scarred my soul
If my heart goes warm again
I fear it'd shatter
Leaving holes

Run into the unknown
Seeking a freezer for a heart
Before it's beaten by the world
Forever covered by it's marks
It's grown so dark you'll never see
But do not dare to light a match
For if you do you might feel warmth
You might consider turning back

I’m nothing but a monolith of ice and gravel.

Stuck in these wintry doldrums.

Waiting, waiting for the time

when the birds return home and

Sol’s warm light puts life back in these bones of permafrost.

It is then she’ll come dancing and singing

like the days when we were young.