The Maiden of Frost

Fri, 04/26/2013 - 18:43 -- guyster


United States
37° 5' 24.864" N, 95° 42' 46.4076" W

Her eyes are sweet
with the gentle glaze of death.
Roseate lips of golden ice
and petite hands clasped tight.
Who is she praying to,
in the soft morning light?

Fleeing for a haven
at a fearful time.
From men clad in black,
riding silver spun horses.
Through wayward woods
and threatening mires,
evading roaring thunder
and growing fires,
heart pounding in
desperate terror,
looking for sanctuary
amidst a world of horror.

She committed no sin,
and caused hardly any din.
But it was her pure flesh,
silky satin skin,
which drew her hunters
of mortal men.
Controlled by greed,
people who would do any deed,
her youth was prized
by the deluded and inhuman.

There was no acquaintance
who would reach out to her,
no familiar hand
which would comfort her,
for those dastardly men
were sworn to their master,
to chase the poor girl
and lead her to disaster.

Over sun bitten deserts,
into desolate tundras,
her crystal feet sore
from the dreadful pursuit.
Here, they come!
From the left to the right,
with aluminum rifles
of gleaming platinum.

She hid in the auroras
that shone cerulean
in the evening sky.
But she fell from their shots,
a clatter of snaps,
broken by her cries.

They slayed her that night
and now she is free
from the river of life.
In death's embrace,
colder than her plaster skin,
she sleeps forever,
the maiden of frost.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741