Iceland

by mjohn

the nose biting, sharp cold
envelops you like a warm embrace
the sangfroid of the vast empty space
enchants you as if the whole country is fraudulent
it’s silent, but the extreme tranquility doesn’t make you uneasy
a silent encouragement inspires you
so you walk forwards
into pure beautiful nothingness
crunching on variegated, odd stones
making your way through the scarce wasteland of a paradise
that belongs to you
because you belong to it
how did a disenchanting, morbid, somber country
steal your warm, beating heart?