Flash-Freeze

I really love winter.

The air turns to ice

Under Winter's chilling stare.

All my failures,

My imperfections,

Are solidified around me

In a jagged coffin

Of brittle crystal.

The lack of heat,

Of all that is putrid,

Causes their festering

To cease.

Frozen into something shatterable,

They are now, somehow,

So vulnerable.

I reach out a grimy finger,

And with a a whisper,

The glass-like walls,

These paper-thin sheets of my

Frozen imperfections,

Burst into minuscule shards.

The Season surrounds me,

Sending a shiver of goosebumps

Along my spine as I feel

The temperature drop.

I breathe in--

The perfectly clear air

Clears my lungs and my

Mouth.

All the filth I have hidden

Beneath my tongue

Tumbles out, frozen

And fragile.

Snow gathers in my hair,

Melting,

Washing the grease

And disgust away.

While the sun is hidden,

Frostbitten,

Behind clouds,

I am finally freed.

Author's Note

Winter :)

Reviews

[FJ Davis]

As much as this poem may portray your love for winter, Ben, it also appears to express your deep dissatisfaction with being human. To the extent, at least, of inhabiting an often disgusting bag of protoplasm--which, admittedly, is part of being human. Further, your preoccupation with these obvious imperfections--even yearning for them to be frozen out of existence--is proof to me that you are actually in search of perfection. An odd thing for a mere bag of protoplasm to do, wouldn't you say? Where would such an abstract, seemingly nonexistent, concept come from?
"Flash-freeze" is attractively presented, rich in icy imagery, precise of lyric and offers a decidedly unique perspective.
What more can you ask of a poet?
Perfection?