The Soft Killer

It has hardened, crystallized after so much time
Just sitting here-
Turned lumpy
And mold-able, shape-able
With my fingers, my boot.
I can make my own hand-print.
The fact that it lays here, decaying somehow
Makes everything seem
Colder, more
Bitter
The wind more
Biting.
It stings to the touch, it crushes into clear crystals
In the spotted pink-white palm of my hand
It is painful after time
Jaded like a person
Not fresh; Old; Dirty.
A place for dogs to pee
And for dead things to poke out
From beneath it and through it.
So ugly.
The sounds of gulls resound overhead
Crying for a new spring
To melt this all alway;
The snow- a killer-
Has stripped all life from this place,
The leaves from the trees,
And left everything it around it hard
And concrete
And made of ice.
Like this book, these buildings, this frozen land...
A boy sits on a bench with frozen eyes.