the killer

I feel like both the boat and the iceberg at once, the killer and the to be killed.

The killer didn’t know it was doing anything wrong. The killer was at peace in its ocean, hiding. You know, when they say “it’s just the tip of the iceberg” means you only see a little bit of the malice.

But then the boat comes, and with no slowing and no flexibility, she careens into the iceberg, breaking this peaceful beast to pieces.

It didn’t matter if the boat tried to take last minute extreme measures.

The iceberg was always there, and (we thought) always would be.

As the iceberg melts its hurts to mending, the sailors sing and drink martinis as the ship slips beneath the waves.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: extreme measures, flexibility, and martini.

This is probably one of the worst poems I’ve written in a very long time.

Can I even call this a poem, or is it a stupid parable? Either way, I was thinking of icebergs this morning, I was thinking particularly that you only see just the tip of someone’s inner life, the rest of it is stored away privately, and no one knows the struggles other people face.

I don’t think I executed my idea very well, but at least I said what I felt I needed to say this morning.

_{Photo by K. K. on Unsplash}