Cold Mask

I once knew a man,
Less a friend and more an ally,
A true winterborn soul,
His face was obscured by unfeeling sapphire,
And he wore that azure mask well,
An emotionless shield of ice,
A frost king carved from the keenest pain,

And when he spoke,
Gales rose in chorus,
His breath was the coldest blizzard,
Each taunt and retort shaping the most briery snowflakes,
Cutting in more ways than one,
Ivory shards in each syllable,
Each word a drop in the mercury,

Yet I tell you,
There was no malice in his visage,
Just the indifferent essence of the arctic,
Nothing personal,
Barely any feeling at all in fact,
No more than a heart of frozen water,
An avalanche holds no grudge.

If the rain was a person

Can you imagine what it would be like if the rain was a person?
Would it be a she?
What would she be like?
Would she be as kind and soothing as a summer shower?
Or perhaps as harsh and bitter as a freezing winter storm?

She’d be both welcomed and unwelcome at parties,
Like farmers waiting for their crops or flood survivors hoping the worst is over,
Nobody would know when she would turn up,
Or what mood she’d be in when she did,
Would she be a friendly mist or a wicked tempest?

What would she sound like?
Perhaps the light pitter-patter of a shy girl?
Or the booming hailstorm of a drama queen?
A droning drizzle or a vociferous gale?

I’m sure everyone would know her.
Who wouldn’t know the rain?
Who wouldn’t miss the rain?
Who wouldn’t love the rain?
Who wouldn’t fear the rain?