Icy Gods

Silence wraps the
trickling rivers of white delight
as we, the wanderers,
cloaked in furs and heavy coats,
as cozy and warm as embryos,
travel unguided through an
empty wasteland, covered by
their gentle white, clinging bodies,
snapped as easily as butterfly wings
beneath our monstrous boots.
Tramping as softly as possible
across a wasteland similar
to that of a crystallized heaven,
we, the wanderers, feel the
silence wrapped about everything,
and decide to leave quickly;
our footprints left as a token
of the short moment we time
we spent amongst shrunken gods
of icy proportions.