Her

Shifting.
The grinding movements of tectonic plates.
Behind the ice that lines the valley floor,
Shines the bright luminescent light of naked truth.
Glowing warmth of meaning and rationality.
But it's too thick.
Meaning is lost.
Young flowers full of hope,
Breaking through the frozen ground.
Why do you wish to trample on them?
They are all I have.
Words of love, uttered, remain unheard.
Words of resentment wailed,
Heating the surface of the ice until it thaws.
But this only deforms the surface of truth,
Instead of setting it free.
Bitter taste left in your mouth.
My pumping heart grows heavy as the flowers start to die.
And then you leave.