Frozen
you lie in the half-frozen mud, a sliver of magic
so small and unassuming I almost miss you.
looking closer, the familiar sight is different;
curious, I gingerly tap you with my booted foot
and the sound you make is almost nonexistent.
thin spiderweb cracks radiate out,
forming complex patterns unlike any I've seen before
amazed, I try to share my discovery
of this unimaginable change you've gone through.
but no one listens; no one seems to care.
I must not have explained myself well enough.
that must be it. it's the only logical explanation.
to this day I can't understand their lack of interest.
how anyone could fail to see the beauty of a frozen puddle?
1 comment:
A proper poet should be able to see in the smallest details while commenting on larger social issues. You have succeeded on both counts here by seeing the beauty of the frozen puddle while calling the callous disregard of the other people into question. Perhaps more description of the puddles beauty would add a little more punch to the turn and make your observation of the world's apathy a little stronger.
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