Consequences

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.


Hope glitters, hope gleams,
Hope slowly starts coming apart at the seams...
Resentment froths and swells,
Like bile, from the dark depths, it wells.


From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.

Red, and rust and then pitch black
The anger, born from expectations that lack...
Acrimony drives a blade as deep into the heart
As affection did once, to tenderness impart.


But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say


Then unafraid of speaking out,
Now brave enough to let silences shout.
The warmth that’s rendered hard and cold
Breathes different, restrained, yet bold.


That for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

A shadow, a memory, a time gone by,
Broken promises, and a part left to die.
To fill the emptiness that, in the end, prevails,
The numbness that consumes, when even sentience fails.

As usual, I lean on a poem by Robert Frost, ‘Fire and Ice’ (in blue italics) to help support the meagre lines I pen. However, if Frost’s poem compels a reader to consider more deeply the potentially devastating capability of the human psyche to destroy itself, then mine tells its own tale to uphold that conviction, so that where his implies, mine states.