Hanging down from the porch

over the mighty canyon,

a dredge through the earth.


Deep winter above,

the snow flies, the wind blows.

The time passes by

and the icicle grows.


Larger and heavier

the weight increasing

until finally, with a gust and crack

it snaps and falls.


Falling for seconds,

down into the divot

past walls of solid rock

that govern its path.





Then it crashes into the river below

into the foam, the cold currents

that smash against rocks and tree trunks.



Slowly it melts away.


But does it away? It’s fundamentals

remain the same- the state changes.

Now that which hung in balance before

is part of a greater turbulence

that governs its path.


Further along, as time passes.

The river slows.

The grass alongside grows

and the suns rays warm the cool shallows

where children play.





But as the seasons change

the winds again blow.

and on a blade of grass

there forms a bead of ice- the same

as that which fell so long ago.


So are things the same? I believe

but there is a change.

Experiences of love, loss,

repression, regression, reversion to old habits

but new meters.


This is a different icicle.

But still altogether the same.

No longer dangling over a precipice,

now the waters are cool and calm.

We like to think we’ve changed.

But we are the same…..



~!~ A spoken Word is a Moment. A written Word is Eternal ~!~


Moe R