Winter. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind. When i was little i used to throw snowballs at them trying to get them off the roof of my house.. Used to eat them like they were ice cream.. Reminds me of my childhood. the frost of winter.
The ice froze over the lake. The forest was silent, as all of the birds had flown away for the winter. And the frost, the frost stabbed through his heart like an icicle spear.
He was young. Only seventeen. But he still had to go, as it was his time.
The ice thaws eventually, but still there he lays, for there is no soul left inside that body, there is no breath inside those lungs.
Winter goes, but there he lays, forever more.
So cold. Drip. Drop. Drip. The water freezes mid-fall. From it all and it just lays in the snow. Drip is so alone. Drop is staring at him. As if he committed sin. Drop cries tears. In the winter…
cold, wet, dripping, hard,the icicle is all these things, but how does it form… I don’t actually know. I’ve never seen one, I live in a hot place. I don’t travel much though.
Her laughter filled the air as she spun around in circles. He watched from a distance, his eyes welling up with bitterness. He knew better. It was all an act; her laughter was deceitful. She was the snow queen. Her heart was the iceberg that sank Titanic and every thing she said was like an icicle she wanted to stick right through his heart.
She spun around in circles, laughing, as he watched from a distance, his eyes welling up in tears. Her laughter was deceitful. He knew better. She was the snow queen. Her heart was the iceberg that sank Titanic, with sharp icicles falling down like arrows piercing straight through his heart.
She picked it up.So strange. This world was so different. You’d never get water to stay put like this at home. She licked the object. And realised that her tongue was stuck. She started to scream. But no one could hear. Even her dragon breath couldn’t melt the icicle.
winter. snowfall. the icicles shatter but they do not fall; they float in the sunset, this marvelous aurora. they turn into snowflakes and drift through the mist, melting into the stars. nothing shines brighter than the moon on this cold, icy night. and as the next icicle falls, this time, it shatters.
I’m mister white christmas. I’m mister snow. I’m mister icicle. I’m mister 10 below. Friends call me Snow Miser. Whatever I touch turns to snow in my clutch. I’m to much!
In the eye. And that was the end of vision in my left. No one believed me, as I appeared normal, in every way, from the outside. But when she said, of course. That’s when I knew she was my girl.
icicle are sharp and cold. sort of like my words when my mind is about to burst. pent up agression is usually the cause. specifically for one girl. your ex. i hate her. i want to stab her with an icicle. let the warm crimson melt the ice and mesh to make a pink tinted water.
A single droplet formed at the base of the eaves. Its view was magnificent, the gardens of the stately home were divine. The Grand High Icicle to its left spoke, “One day my son, this will all be yours. But first you must grow.”
Diligently and silently, the droplet drank in from the trickle formed from the broken gutter above, which bled down the eaves and dripped loudly and painfully to the courtyard below. This microscopic Nile streamed ceaselessly from the enormous, damp roof, and was at times overwhelming for the little droplet.
Patience and purpose ensured the droplet grew and hardened in the freezing afternoon shade. Come the early morning, when the winter haze was too heavy to rise to the height of the eaves, the growing iciclet might be left exposed, and even a weak morning sun could tear at it like a paper cut, droplets fleeing under only the mildest of encouragement.
Two lucky mornings were all that was needed. By the end of the week, the iciclet had grown, fortune favouring it over its brethren, which had at times sheltered it from the earliest morning sun, until it was now the largest icicle by far of them all. The Grand High Icicle was very large too, but by now, the same Sun had weakened its base, and its future looked uncertain. The following morning, they awoke to find the Grand High Icicle was no more. On the ground far below, some shards were apparent, and would remain until that afternoon when they too would vanish into the surrounding ether, perhaps eventually forming a part of some future iciclet.
The mourning was brief, and celebrations for the new Grand High Icicle, who once a droplet, now passed on its wisdom of patience, diligence, and purpose as the route to its own success. There were no shortcuts, but there was a beginning, and there would be an end. There had to be an end.
i used to love
snow days
icicles and winter parades
but i grew up
and now only enjoy
sleeping alone,
drinking alone,
being alone,
with the icicles hanging from
my heart.
You will hear about it ,or see it mostly at Christmas time. The Icicle, I think is the shape of objects formed from the running of ice on the ground, or the shapes of lights on the Christmas tree.
The ice cave made every sound echo. Long, razor sharp pillars of ice hung from the ceiling like spears.
“What if the icicle’s fall on us?!” she asked her friend fearfully.
“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” he replied. “Let’s go”
And so they walked further into the depths of the ice caves, the icicles quiverring above them.
iceland, despite his name, actually hated the cold. no, it wasn’t something he hated with a burning passion, it’s just that he’s become bored of it, what with having to live near the arctic circle for hunreds of years. so when his good friend hong kong invited him to disneyland one year, he was more than happy to jump at the opportunity. no icicles hung there permanently.
It was sharp, almost as frigid as his heart, and hanging precariously above them.
After that, and this, everything in between, she couldn’t just sit aside anymore. No.
She reached, and with all the strength she could muster, broke the icicle from the ceiling. He turned. Now was the moment.
is white and cold..i like them. shame they dont grow in the summer. sometimes i lick´em and suck´em. or just throw them on the other people. and they go angry. i like this. i love this. best part of the winter. isnt´it.
It’s the first midnight winter’s snow. The landscape is bleak, black, dark, asleep. An icicle glistens and shines on the eave, listening to the world. Ready to slink back to the earth drop by drop come spring. I sleep.
Icicle, its simply water frozen. its just like ice cubes and nothing more. but what makes it so beautiful and mesmerizing? the fact that water and ice as magical as it looks, it cannot defy gravity. it is a friendly reminder to all of us that we are stuck here for the time being. So we might as well make the best of it <3
An Ice Queen, she is! Stand too close to her and you will turn into an icicle! Her voice is frosty, her look is frosty … there is no warmth to be found in that woman!
Steadily, the icicle melted. I watched with an impassive expression, saw the thing glimmer as it caught the light. It’d melt before tomorrow. I may as well take in the relatively lovely sight while it lasted. Fleeting. But pretty.
An icicle sounds pretty good right about now despite how cold it is. Idk sometimes I feel like I want it to be cold all the time because I can control it. I hate when I can’t have control over a given situation and that really really really bothers the living crap out of me. That’s just my personality, I guess.
Drawn in the depths of the cold water. I began to swim away from the shoreline. The cold sand of the beach drew further away as I swam. The cold water pierced my flesh like icicles and the baptism it gave me was exactly what I needed. Maybe I can face a new truth out here.
One of the most torturous deaths – being stabbed by an icicle. Seriously, is there something wrong with me? Why did I think of something like this at 2:46am?
The way this moves so slow so glacial. Yet when we slide, so quick so sudden. Would our heat ever melt the ground that’s under? Or can we toy with love’s duality. Pain and pleasure in our hands.
It was late at night when I decided upon the weapon of my choice.
That old adage,a
That “Mindtrap” that no one would consider,
The simple answer to a riddle, but one easily concealable.
My weapon of choice is an icicle,
in the middle of July.
Winter. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind. When i was little i used to throw snowballs at them trying to get them off the roof of my house.. Used to eat them like they were ice cream.. Reminds me of my childhood. the frost of winter.
efesf
The ice froze over the lake. The forest was silent, as all of the birds had flown away for the winter. And the frost, the frost stabbed through his heart like an icicle spear.
He was young. Only seventeen. But he still had to go, as it was his time.
The ice thaws eventually, but still there he lays, for there is no soul left inside that body, there is no breath inside those lungs.
Winter goes, but there he lays, forever more.
So cold. Drip. Drop. Drip. The water freezes mid-fall. From it all and it just lays in the snow. Drip is so alone. Drop is staring at him. As if he committed sin. Drop cries tears. In the winter…
cold, wet, dripping, hard,the icicle is all these things, but how does it form… I don’t actually know. I’ve never seen one, I live in a hot place. I don’t travel much though.
icicle
cicle
iccle
icicle
lecici
cicile
ciceli
cecili
lecici
walrus
Tumblr
Dustin Joseph Dickinson
Today
love
why hasnt the snow come yet??? i wanna iceskate!!! what is up with this comp?
Her laughter filled the air as she spun around in circles. He watched from a distance, his eyes welling up with bitterness. He knew better. It was all an act; her laughter was deceitful. She was the snow queen. Her heart was the iceberg that sank Titanic and every thing she said was like an icicle she wanted to stick right through his heart.
She spun around in circles, laughing, as he watched from a distance, his eyes welling up in tears. Her laughter was deceitful. He knew better. She was the snow queen. Her heart was the iceberg that sank Titanic, with sharp icicles falling down like arrows piercing straight through his heart.
She picked it up.So strange. This world was so different. You’d never get water to stay put like this at home. She licked the object. And realised that her tongue was stuck. She started to scream. But no one could hear. Even her dragon breath couldn’t melt the icicle.
his heart was as cold as winter icicles and Alaska itself.
winter. snowfall. the icicles shatter but they do not fall; they float in the sunset, this marvelous aurora. they turn into snowflakes and drift through the mist, melting into the stars. nothing shines brighter than the moon on this cold, icy night. and as the next icicle falls, this time, it shatters.
I’m mister white christmas. I’m mister snow. I’m mister icicle. I’m mister 10 below. Friends call me Snow Miser. Whatever I touch turns to snow in my clutch. I’m to much!
From my favorite Christmas movie EVERRRR.
In the eye. And that was the end of vision in my left. No one believed me, as I appeared normal, in every way, from the outside. But when she said, of course. That’s when I knew she was my girl.
icicle are sharp and cold. sort of like my words when my mind is about to burst. pent up agression is usually the cause. specifically for one girl. your ex. i hate her. i want to stab her with an icicle. let the warm crimson melt the ice and mesh to make a pink tinted water.
A single droplet formed at the base of the eaves. Its view was magnificent, the gardens of the stately home were divine. The Grand High Icicle to its left spoke, “One day my son, this will all be yours. But first you must grow.”
Diligently and silently, the droplet drank in from the trickle formed from the broken gutter above, which bled down the eaves and dripped loudly and painfully to the courtyard below. This microscopic Nile streamed ceaselessly from the enormous, damp roof, and was at times overwhelming for the little droplet.
Patience and purpose ensured the droplet grew and hardened in the freezing afternoon shade. Come the early morning, when the winter haze was too heavy to rise to the height of the eaves, the growing iciclet might be left exposed, and even a weak morning sun could tear at it like a paper cut, droplets fleeing under only the mildest of encouragement.
Two lucky mornings were all that was needed. By the end of the week, the iciclet had grown, fortune favouring it over its brethren, which had at times sheltered it from the earliest morning sun, until it was now the largest icicle by far of them all. The Grand High Icicle was very large too, but by now, the same Sun had weakened its base, and its future looked uncertain. The following morning, they awoke to find the Grand High Icicle was no more. On the ground far below, some shards were apparent, and would remain until that afternoon when they too would vanish into the surrounding ether, perhaps eventually forming a part of some future iciclet.
The mourning was brief, and celebrations for the new Grand High Icicle, who once a droplet, now passed on its wisdom of patience, diligence, and purpose as the route to its own success. There were no shortcuts, but there was a beginning, and there would be an end. There had to be an end.
Hanging down like a stalactite. I imagine. I haven’t seen that many icicles in person. Just on TV.
i used to love
snow days
icicles and winter parades
but i grew up
and now only enjoy
sleeping alone,
drinking alone,
being alone,
with the icicles hanging from
my heart.
You will hear about it ,or see it mostly at Christmas time. The Icicle, I think is the shape of objects formed from the running of ice on the ground, or the shapes of lights on the Christmas tree.
The ice cave made every sound echo. Long, razor sharp pillars of ice hung from the ceiling like spears.
“What if the icicle’s fall on us?!” she asked her friend fearfully.
“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” he replied. “Let’s go”
And so they walked further into the depths of the ice caves, the icicles quiverring above them.
iceland, despite his name, actually hated the cold. no, it wasn’t something he hated with a burning passion, it’s just that he’s become bored of it, what with having to live near the arctic circle for hunreds of years. so when his good friend hong kong invited him to disneyland one year, he was more than happy to jump at the opportunity. no icicles hung there permanently.
It was sharp, almost as frigid as his heart, and hanging precariously above them.
After that, and this, everything in between, she couldn’t just sit aside anymore. No.
She reached, and with all the strength she could muster, broke the icicle from the ceiling. He turned. Now was the moment.
is white and cold..i like them. shame they dont grow in the summer. sometimes i lick´em and suck´em. or just throw them on the other people. and they go angry. i like this. i love this. best part of the winter. isnt´it.
The icicle fell to the ground and shattered; it scared the shit out of me, and I turned around to see only smashed ice.
It’s the first midnight winter’s snow. The landscape is bleak, black, dark, asleep. An icicle glistens and shines on the eave, listening to the world. Ready to slink back to the earth drop by drop come spring. I sleep.
Icicle, its simply water frozen. its just like ice cubes and nothing more. but what makes it so beautiful and mesmerizing? the fact that water and ice as magical as it looks, it cannot defy gravity. it is a friendly reminder to all of us that we are stuck here for the time being. So we might as well make the best of it <3
An Ice Queen, she is! Stand too close to her and you will turn into an icicle! Her voice is frosty, her look is frosty … there is no warmth to be found in that woman!
Drip, drip, drip.
Steadily, the icicle melted. I watched with an impassive expression, saw the thing glimmer as it caught the light. It’d melt before tomorrow. I may as well take in the relatively lovely sight while it lasted. Fleeting. But pretty.
Drip, drip, drip.
ice
lie
icicle
le
cile
lic
lei
An icicle sounds pretty good right about now despite how cold it is. Idk sometimes I feel like I want it to be cold all the time because I can control it. I hate when I can’t have control over a given situation and that really really really bothers the living crap out of me. That’s just my personality, I guess.
diamond shards, splitting the clean light into jewels and beams of glowing rainbows
Drawn in the depths of the cold water. I began to swim away from the shoreline. The cold sand of the beach drew further away as I swam. The cold water pierced my flesh like icicles and the baptism it gave me was exactly what I needed. Maybe I can face a new truth out here.
One of the most torturous deaths – being stabbed by an icicle. Seriously, is there something wrong with me? Why did I think of something like this at 2:46am?
The way this moves so slow so glacial. Yet when we slide, so quick so sudden. Would our heat ever melt the ground that’s under? Or can we toy with love’s duality. Pain and pleasure in our hands.
drips and drops and melting. if one falls down its sure to crack you right open. better hurry and get out of this cave.
It was late at night when I decided upon the weapon of my choice.
That old adage,a
That “Mindtrap” that no one would consider,
The simple answer to a riddle, but one easily concealable.
My weapon of choice is an icicle,
in the middle of July.
No one will see it coming.
the snow felt soft. But my heart was just icy and I hoped for your soul to break me from this.. break me. melt me down
icicles dripping in beautiful winter frost
while i freaze with a warm coat on snowflakes falling on my head i know im safe