The Exquisite Art Of Drowning

Am I going insane, or have I gone?
What I have seen cannot be un-sawn,
What I will do cannot be undone.
And what I will do should not be so fun.

What is that I glimpse when I look in his eyes?
That strangest of things trapped under the ice.
Is it a look of eternal fear that I see,
Or is it a look of perpetual glee?

My vision is darkened; the hour must be late.
Yet I remain a while to contemplate fate.
Was it meant to end in this way?
Was it written that she would stray?

Still he floats against the top.
I do not think he will ever stop.
I wonder what goes through his mind
And if he will get what he went to find.

The light is now completely gone.
It is not the kind to return with dawn.
For now it seems so clear to see
That the stranger in the ice was me.