I flittered like a frozen butterfly in a silver artic haze.
My wings wilting erroneously from a chill since unbridled.
I waited in my wonderland of crystal blue ice.
But my freedom wass contingent upon surrealistic designs.
A Martyr in my mind ceases her egocentric complaining.
I have floated on a morally inept Western Wind.
But flames from a lust so potent seared me into unbridled action.
I leapt with the joy of supplication and the artic relased its prize.
A.J. McKinley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/artic-cage/
