The Ice is Whitest from the Inside
Here we’re distressed strangers who never even set anchor.
Stuck with a bunch of pin heads, but the cold was the hellraiser.
A blinding horizon of ice at the iris that felt danger –
and foreign noises that attributed to the stressed anger.
Drunk and bamboozled excuses for hunters and humans
crushed in their ruins from feuding too much with consumers.
Collecting the oils of Antarctic life was made our plight,
but found the cost of the fight…and the price to pay was high.
I live on a plateau of the coldest landscapes.
I fish with the wife and things generally go the planned way.
Today though, we saw a boat crashed into the basin where we fish.
It’s amazing how the ship and ground were changed and made to shift.
The flat lands now a jungle gym; climbing up the craft then jumping in,
but too scared to explore after seeing some ghastly upper-limbs.
While getting fed may have been as easy as shooting fish in a barrel
We’re whitest on the inside when something isn’t apparent.