Ice shifts in the glass;
it clinks against the sides, then
settles once again.
About the Creator
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More stories from Luna Jordan and writers in Poets and other communities.
No Word Comes Near Enough
The English language has its limits. I learned this when I became a student of the Bible and looked up the Greek and Hebrew definitions behind the Scriptures I loved. Some languages have so much more depth and power than the one I use to convey my thoughts. But, even so, I don't think any word could ever come close to describing this void and pain I am journeying through. I don't know how to swim through its murky waters.
By Shirley Belka day ago in Poets
Winterthorne
Winterthorne stood alone at the edge of the park. The beautiful snow that had surrounded him was all trampled now, from the feet of all of the children who had built him. He missed the sparkly clean snow blanket, but he was happy that so many children had come out to make him.
By Laura DePace5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Solid into liquid ice melts. Love the sound that ice makes in the glass. Good job.
Gotta agree with Harper. Ice is such a scary word now. Loved your poem!
Like everyone else in the US, I now bristle when I see the word “ice.” I am so thankful that this is the kind I like, in the place I like it—a glass.💖