Vintr I

We built our heretic temples in snow and ice,
melting altars to a faceless, shapeless god;
withdrawn beneath the armour of permafrost,
isolated on icebergs of our own creation.

Slaves to a psychic wanderlust; unbound
and free to walk where others feared;
we soared dizzy heights in our minds,
yet bound by small, frost-bound bodies.

The stars were symbols of our pariah state,
the graffiti of our self-celled walls;
many had passed this way and prayed to old suns,
and we were no better or worse than they.

The existence of soul mere rhetorical,
a word for something beyond scant words.
cogito ergo zoom
I think therefore I must move, or else
the groping, grasping vines of social norm
bind me to the black and bone-tired earth.

We waited for the thaw and the gift of spring
not knowing the brute strength of the Winterking.