The Icicle

12th April, '09

It hangs like an icicle,
in the thick air of memories,
unmelting, suffocating,
yet never dimming with time.
Unchangeable, like a rhythm,
come back to haunt me;
The beat of the tomorrows,
all shrouded by the yesterdays.
It hangs like an icicle,
chilling me to the bone,
a sparkling icicle,
that will not quench my thirst,
its rays, all dripping of regret,
and unfathomable despair.