Glowing in the rays of the sun,
Too cold to melt, so they remain.
I can see where the water tried to run,
But with just a first of wind, it was frozen back in place.

There's a crystalline beauty to each stalactite of ice,
Hanging from my gutter as if they refused to move.
The snow mixed with salt on the road is less than white,
And has something closer to an alabaster hue.

Admiring their beauty I snap a few pics.
Adding them to my collection of winter's peerless beauty.
But then something flips on like a switch,
And intrusive thoughts start to wonder through me.

If you take an icicle,
And stab another person,
Could you be put in trial without the murder weapon?

It would melt when you were through,
How could they possibly prove,
That you were the one that did it without a confession?

Could you put one on and arrow,
Maybe shoot ot to the sky,
Would you watch it like a dummy?
Maybe put out an eye?

I break one off,
It's like a wand,
Sweet hell it's cold,
But it could still be some fun.

Point it like a spell,
In your hand it starts to melt,
There's more up there, you're like "oh well",
Then the front door pops open,
Your child is asking for help....

You snap back out of thoughts that you should probably not share.
Gotta fix the kid breakfast,
When you're done they'll still be there.

© The Moonlight Bard