Ice Warrior

He wore a frozen stare
that could make any coward flee,
and for those who thought they dared,
he held his sword 
—proud, and strong, and free.

No chains had ever been able to hold him
not those of hardened steel
nor the gossamer threads woven 
from any woman’s heart.

He wore his independence like armour
wrapped tightly around his heart
and stood in his famous stance,
proud, and strong — and free.

He was battle raised and proud of it;
looked up to by those 
who cautiously walked the line
between friend and foe —and feared by both.

He’d never met anyone
who’d stand against his sword
or hold their ground 
against his icy stare.

No one ever stood up to his pride; 
no one ever challenged his strength,
and on one would ever —ever—
take away his freedom!

But she just stood there.

Eyes like emeralds on a bed of silk;
lips like rubies, and hair like fire
against alabaster skin,
she haunted him.

He’d had women before
—to quench a physical desire,
but he counted them no different 
than any other conquest of war.

Their faces never floated ‘round his head
as he huddled ‘neath rocks and trees
in the cold, dark nights 
spent waiting for the morning battle. 

And never had he counted
how many steps would take him
back to any other woman’s bed
— and he’d surely never walked them!

Not for any woman but her!

In his dreams, the leather of his boots
wore thin from walking that path,
and the ice that flowed in his veins
flowed warm.

In his waking hours he fought two battles.
One, against those at the end of his sword
and one, against his heart, as it threatened 
to melt and drag him back to her.

Oh, he knew where to find her!
All too vividly he remembered
the touch of her hands against his skin
as she’d nursed him.

He’d tried to keep his mind
on feeding the cauldron of anger within,
boiling his revenge against the one
who’s sword had been sharper than his

But those eyes! 
Those tender fingers as she'd washed his wound;
and the softness of her breath upon his cheek
as she'd kissed him when she thought he slept!

Oh how she haunted him!

And worst of all, the sweetness of her voice,
and the sureness of her gaze, when she’d said
“when you need me, I’ll be here”
and he had sworn he never would.

But ever since that day 
the frown that creased his brow
etched deeper as he replayed her words
and fought the growing battle within. 

He hadn’t touched her;
hadn’t taken her the way he’d wanted to,
—the way he still wanted to!
But she hadn’t said she’d feed his wants.

She’d only mentioned need
and the Ice Warrior needed nothing
except a blade of sharpened steel,
his pride, his strength — and freedom! 

But still she spoke to him.

She consumed his thoughts
both in the bitter darkness of moonless nights,
and behind the daytime sound of clashing steel
her voice still spoke to him. 

Until at last he fell upon the ground,
one battle won, the other lost,
as he realized he never would be free
without her. 

So he counted footsteps to her door,
a breathless figure driven
by the one thing he’d sworn he didn’t have
— need.

And when at last he caught first sight
of the garden ‘round her house,
his heart beat with a fear he’d never known
not even in the heat of battle. 

But she was there, and he fell to his knees 
as the hands he longed to touch him
unlatched the gate to let him in,
and he knew at last the battle had been won.

He finally was free.



february 2005
©Janet Reid




 



Awarded by Poetic Constellations







Awarded by New Horizons