The sheets of ice crack like broken glass
shrouded in a frozen cast of skin
the cold wind blasts what lasts within

At last and again, on thin ice
the pressure with each weighted step
swallowing into the icy waters below
the bellowing call of men in sprawl
catching their breath before a break and fall

To awake at all on such icy patches
where cold latches on
and the menace of a chill catches on

The world watches on
while trudging through the frost
what is lost while leaving for land can never again be truly awoken
but somewhere on that ice
is a patch so clawed and worn
so shattered and broken

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