Getting Through

Skaftafell Ice Cave, Iceland

For so many years
All I’ve seen are ripples
Of blue,
My hands frozen, bleeding,
Trying to get a grip,
Slipping on the walls of
This ice cave I seem to be in, and ahead are only
More ripples and blue cold,
Like frozen mockery.
Nothing to grab onto, cold, wet, uneven,
Everything distorted.

Sometimes I can’t make it up even the smallest slope,
Sliding back down, over and over again.
But I kept going; I don’t know how or why.

But I’ll find a side passage and move on,
Lately, I’ve felt a faint breeze on my cheek
Something’s ahead, I’m almost through,
There’s a light up ahead; I think that’s the sun
A few more steps, slipping a little now and then,
But smelling home and freedom.

The breeze is warmer now. I can smell sunshine on it.

©Hemmingplay 2014