The Tip Of The Iceberg Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A gilded cage, a shadowed hand,
Power held across the land.
Blind eyes turned, a whispered plea,
While innocence could never flee.

The iceberg looms, a chilling sight,
Its frozen heart, devoid of light.
The surface melts, a trickling tear,
But darkness thrives, fueled by fear.

No easy thaw, no gentle grace,
Just broken trust, a fallen face.
The rot runs deep, a poisoned well,
A heavy price, a living hell.

A heavy crown, a gilded throne,
Held by hands that feel no moan.
The strings of power, tight they pull,
While whispers grow of something cruel.

A hidden world, a shadowed stain,
Where innocence is lost in pain.
The iceberg's tip, it should have gone,
But darkness lingers, marching on.

The mighty fall, their secrets bleed,
A poisoned fruit, a bitter seed.
And we are left, to watch and wait,
To clean the mess and seal their fate.

T.M.Solvang