the Frozen Man

His soul sleeps,
buried far beneath a long forgotten vertical landscape,
yearning for home . . .
it dreams of places remembered; warm places, complete and innocently raw

The perpetual journey through a cobwebbed labyrinth remains a stygian quest at best,
an unanswered prayer, a dimly lit votive, a quiet cry in the dark
the clouds thicken, the earth cools and a winter of the mind settles in

Rolling waves of emotion yield snowflakes of blue
that fall like sleet, slicing the spirit into oh, so many unrecognizable pieces of what used to be a life; where nothing fits or belongs but must somehow remain

still . . .

Who knows when, this sadly shattered thing will end
Only God knows when it started,
But it’s wearing pretty thin, as the winter settles in, covering the frozen man . . .

~m

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29 responses to “the Frozen Man

  1. You make me miss reading good writing.
    You make me miss writing.
    You make me feel things when I thought I was done for the day.
    You make me repeat myself in comments which just reconfirms that
    you make things possible that most of just can only dream of.


    You make me blush, Spaz.
    Thanks so much for the comment.
    Coming from you it means alot.
    ~m

  2. This post is making me think you are writing about me since my furnace went out. That is the exact word that comes from my mouth about 20 times a day. FROZEN.

    If you are, thanks. LoL!


    Funny, Grimm.
    Sending some “heat wishes” your way . . .
    Think warm!
    ~m

  3. oh michael, it’s rare i’m stuck for words, but i am here…ordinarily i would find some little thing to make you smile, but these words? nothing….
    will email at some point tomorrow night when i settle down a little bit….this has got to me…
    moe

    I’ll wait for the email . . .
    Thanks for reading this.
    ~m

    >

  4. Had to come back to this.
    I am not sure you realise how good this is.
    I am not sure I do.
    Just another piece of proof that the best writing has to come from within.
    Trouble is, most people don’t know how to translate.
    I’m with Smith on this all the way (since you’re blushing and grinning already ;-) ).

    No, I don’t think I do.
    Truth be told, I’m just putting down what’s there.
    No rhyme, no reason. Go figure . . .
    Thanks again for reading this.
    The stats on it are nuts.
    ~m

  5. I’ve read this so many times and it evokes a different feeling in me after each read. It’s inspiring stuff.
    ‘where nothing fits or belongs but must somehow remain’
    Wow.


    This writer sometimes finds difficulty responding to so many wonderful comments.
    I’m glad you enjoyed it. Not too much more I can say.
    Stop back again.
    ~m

  6. See Michael, THIS is why I like coming here. You wear your heart on your sleeve in such a poetic way that makes those of us who have never been in your position understand for a brief moment the heartache you are going through. I just wanna hug you, and your dad.

    Cheers, Kelly


    Thanks, Kelly. Much appreciated.
    ~m

  7. oh, M squared…

    this post comes at a strange and somewhat wonderful time.

    a. full moon last night…

    b. i just accepted a position as nurse manager of the alzheimer’s unit at a facility in natick.

    your words are so beautiful and poignant. may i ask your permission to do this piece in calligraphy {with props, of course} to matte and frame and hang in my new office space?

    i am so proud that i know you. i hope your own words bring you some fraction of inner peace. Lord knows you have paid enough for it.

    - journaling Whyvonne

    Go for the calligraphy. I’m honored.
    Can’t think of a better place for my words to be.
    Make sure you send me a pic when it’s done.
    peace,
    ~m

  8. *tear*

    Thanks, Red.
    As with most of my stuff, I feel this was written so very long ago.
    I’ve already shed my share of tears for the man.
    But Lord only knows, there will be more.
    best,
    ~m

  9. I’ve read this numerous times and it leaves me speechless every time, which is why I haven’t left a comment before. I echo Spaz, this is so very very good. I love it when you write from the heart.

    Jennifer

    From the heart, it was.
    Thanks for the email, Jen
    ~m

  10. All is not frozen…..
    Your Dad’s heart and spirit may be tired, but not frozen. Your heart and spirit, like your Dad’s, gets tired,but remains caring and full of sunshine, for your Dad and the special memories you have shared!
    Let the sunshine on…..
    :-)


    Let the sun shine on the Frozen Man . . .
    Thanks, Lynn.
    ~m

  11. Michael,
    I envy your ability to describe something so utterly sad, so beautifully. You honor your father with these words and all the fathers that share his fate as well.
    Annie

    Honor. Hmmm, I hadn’t thought of it that way.
    I really like that.
    Thanks, Annie
    ~m

  12. very very nice….

    it’s sooo fucking good to be back.. i told you i’d come for you all… and one by one i am!

    Waiting for that new URL, gurlfriend!
    Send it on . . .
    ~m

  13. Pingback: the heart remembers « Smoke & Mirrors

  14. This is beautiful but melancholy, sad, and I think I shivered a little bit.

    I wish you warmth.

    Thanks, D
    Spring is just around the corner. ;)
    ~m

  15. Thanks for sharing what’s in your heart with us. I know writing this stuff doesn’t come easy – or perhaps on some days it flows but it does come and hey, thanks and much love to you and yours.

    You’ve helped someone today.

    I hope I’ve helped. Tanks . . .
    ~m

  16. After my Dad finally was so violent and confused that he was a danger to himself and my Mom, he had to be kept apart. I could handle it there in the home, feeding him, patting his hand, bringing him stuffed animals to cuddle. What I couldn’t stand was the rare occasion, the very rare occasion, when the veil would lift … he’d look at me … and he’d say, “I love you, Linda.” In that split second, flash of light, he was back, and then he was gone again.
    M, I have nobody else to talk with about this. Thank you for offering a shoulder to us all. And thank you for accepting ours.

    As I told you, email me.
    I’m a great listener (reader).
    Thank you for sharing your all too tender moment.
    I understand.
    ~m

  17. Pingback: my Frozen poem « Smoke & Mirrors

  18. Thanks. My father is frozen too. I know those snowflakes of blue.

    I really appreciate you stopping by and commenting.
    I understand all too well the pain associated with the disease.
    Read some of my other posts under the “alzheimer” tag.
    They will at least make you feel less alone.
    Thanks again for the visit.
    Quite a son-in-law you have there . . . :mrgreen:
    ~m

  19. Pingback: Iced Calligraphy « Smoke & Mirrors

  20. Pingback: …God have mercy on the frozen man « what lies within

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