some we cannot save

her skin was made
of ice crystals
all across the bleak
the pale
the cold
surface of snowed in stars

long lines of cracks
of motions recorded
inside the layers
covered her wholly
the rifts, splits
added a new dimension
to her features:

broken pieces still
fitted together
but just askew
enough to be
of evidence
(the demolished mirror
touched by a desperate hand)

the ice queen
she crowned herself
frozen in the same
cycle of memories
of numbing, cold

and lies, stories,
she told everyone
but mostly herself
the words captured by
frigid air crash
onto snow ridden tiles
the icicles a mere echo
of action

a cry, still
a shadow
dancing on the edge
of this void
the empty, consuming
throne of her kingdom

and life, has long moved past
has seeked refuge
where the sunshine
feels warm
not like hers –
a mere monument to the lost

yet still
her feet remain frozen
her blood
and she hides her own
eyes away
from the gift she received
while she still had walked
and danced and sung
had lived

she hides her gaze
from the feathers
of the summerchild