An iceberg is not a landform; an iceberg is ocean’s sentiment,
Out-casted from the murky depths, its own independent.
Forever frozen in this sorrowful moment,
In its resentment, it sinks bystanders for atonement.

An iceberg is not a landform; an iceberg is grand anguish,
A mass far too large to all at once accomplish.
The anguish is but a hardened sherbet,
That can only be picked apart, bit by bit.

An iceberg is not a landform; an iceberg is the face of despondency,
It is grief’s frigid physiognomy.
With rigid, pale, blank complexion,
It floats over reality in dazed dejection.