patience, the drips won't last forever
a great pillar growing downwards,
as the drips collect at the
foot of its throne.
and screams of agony, as the drips
caress its fragile buds.
icy, bitter - the frost-bitten drips -
as the sun rises against pleated yellow
sheets of clouds. and the frost wanes.
and herald the drips...
sons of the icicle, pray stop thy cold heart,
from its terrible beatings.
enough, it strangles the very life from
the roots. the cold, the ice.
growth is frozen from the inside.
stop, i say!
or my buds will stale.
and my beauty ruined.
my life and my reputation, they
preceed me. stop my friends. stop.
ah, crowning glory of creation.
why do you strain
to birth thy own purpose now?
grow, tall and strong,
but what ever for except
thy future children, not thy
frival name. but lie still dear,
it is far from your time
to awake. it is not time yet.
not yet.
nay, my stem is cold, and my roots
are resolute. they stop for no one
and the very sense of time, they create.
nothing shall hinder my own
posterity. not every you, the frost king.
then patience, dear friend,
the drips won't last forever.
goodnight, and stay strong.
