Like birds
the sharp iceberg tops crane their heads
toward the sun
as it gently falls upon them
and ice becomes water
that drips down through the caverns of each glacier.
They are penguins-
birds that do not fly
but wish to-
instead they are confined
to the turbulent water
and the glaring heat.
The air around them
becoming warmer-
limp penguins piled atop each other.
The azure
is fading to white
as ice sheets fall
into the gray ocean-
a reflection of our sky.
A reflection of our hands-
plump and greedy and ignorant
as fingers reach for the beautiful,
for the delicate
and frail
and forgotten
and left behind.
Writer's Note:
I chose this drawing to base my poem on because of the pure beauty of the glacier depicted and the realism of the drawing. In my poem, I strived to capture the beauty and peaceful silence of the glacier, while also addressing how climate change has begun to deteriorate these icebergs.