a single tear
white and crystalline
clings to the surface
making blue cold
still
a forest of alabaster
stands silent
almost unmoving
as air whispers dance
speaking of tales
of dead adventurers
from distant lands
stuck in time
compass frozen
before scurrying on
who will sing
a song for them now
the great polar spirit
cries alone
before leaping after
its bearded flesh

SILENCE This poem stemmed from me playing with a random word generator. I knew I wanted to write a “still” poem about the arctic but just need a few words to trigger a start even if I didn’t use them in the actual poem (which I didn’t).