A Frozen Heart
Sarah Cannavo
He’s found quite a way to protect his heart;
he wrapped it, re-shaped it, caked it in ice,
carved it into an Arctic work of art.
He’s found quite a way to protect his heart;
even though for years it was torn apart,
those who broke it won’t get to do so twice.
He’s found quite a way to protect his heart;
he wrapped it, re-shaped it, caked it in ice.
He decided it’s better to be numb—
you can’t get hurt if you can’t feel a thing,
can you? There’s so much that he’s running from
he decided it’s better to be numb.
Without care for consequences to come
he takes what he wants; he lives like a king.
He decided it’s better to be numb;
you can’t get hurt if you can’t feel a thing.
Each beat freezes his blood a little more,
fixing his cold mask perfectly in place.
As others wonder what the frost is for,
each beat freezes his blood a little more,
making him colder than he was before.
He sits there with a smooth smirk on his face;
each beat freezes his blood a little more,
fixing his cold mask perfectly in place.
But he’s a man of secrets, and here’s one:
There’s still warmth left beneath the winter chill.
He struggles to hide it; so far he’s won,
but he’s a man of secrets, and here’s one:
Even the thickest ice melts in the sun.
A small crack could leave him vulnerable.
Yes, he’s a man of secrets, and here’s one:
There’s still warmth left beneath the winter chill.
He’d have you believe his heart simply froze,
and I’ll admit that he plays the part well.
His coldness keeps others from coming close.
He’d have you believe his heart simply froze;
Jack Frost nipped his veins as well as his nose.
And he can chill any room, even Hell.
He’d have you believe his heart simply froze,
and I’ll admit that he plays the part well.
But life can lie dormant, safe under snow,
and his heart might be cold, but it still beats.
He might deny his nature, but I know
that life can lie dormant, safe under snow,
and someday once more it may start to grow.
He might think he’s placed himself in deep freeze,
but life can lie dormant, safe under snow,
and his heart might be cold, but it still beats.
Sarah Cannavo is a writer of prose and poetry living in southern New Jersey. Her poems and short stories have appeared in anthologies and magazines such as Carrying On, Untimely Frost, Parody, Poetry Quarterly, Postcards From the Void, Schlock! Horror!, Darkling’s Beasts and Brews, The Devil’s Hour, It Came From the Garage!, The Literary Hatchet, Liminality, Horror USA: California, Deranged, Obliquatur Voluptas, Ghosts, Spirits, and Specters, Midnight in the Witch’s Kitchen, Star*Line, Ghost Stories For Starless Nights, The Society of Misfit Stories, The Devil the You Know, and Hookman and Friends; her poem “The 5 Stages of Being on Hold” won third place in the 2018 Wergle Flomp Humor Poetry Contest and her poem “Fallen But Not Down” was nominated for a 2020 Rhysling Award. Her short work will appear in the upcoming anthology The Cryptid Chronicles. She sometimes manages to write about these and other projects on her site, The Moody Muse (www.moodilymusing.blogspot.com) or rant about them on Twitter @moodilymusing.