The Ice

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A blast of chilled air rushes to greet my face,
as my blade gently brushes the ice, when I proceed with eloquent grace.
Stroke by stroke, I caress the ice.
My blades sing in ecstasy, feeling suffice.
Emotions swallow me,
and I feel like I am soaring over the ice, the way a seagull soars over the sea.
My soul is enlightened as it flies across the field of white crystals.
I have risen so far above that I can hear the singing angels.
All my worries have vanished from my mind,
and it feels like I am blind.
Blind of all the other in this world.
I can only feel with my heart, which beats so steadily.
Not willing to give up this feeling so readily.
What is this feeling, you ask?
It is the feeling I keep conceived, under my mask.
The feeling I experience every time I step onto the ice.





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