Um, this is my first post on OTL, and my first attempt at anything X-men related *claps for self*. Any ways, I decided to write a poem--ode if you will--to the lucid moments of Gambit after he was totally abandoned in the Antarctic. This comes late at night after eating vast amounts of chocolate Girl Guide Cookies, so if it is really terrible, please don't beat me up. Blame the cookies.

Legalities: Marvel owns the character, but they might not recognize him (shh! Don't tell!).

Flames will be blithely ignored; praise will be revered. Either way, email me at gobailey@accessweb.com.

Fingers through the stream of water,

clear, cold, so unforgiving.

Numb,

to the bone,

{this is glacier water you know}

so heartlessly unreal,

but as you watch,

watch the water bleed.

For you, for the past,

the bridges that smoke,

and the bony ghosts that grab faintly to your soul

{memory is sharper than that}

in a field of pristine cold,

leeched of color to white,

watch the water bleed.

Flowing,

the only word to describe

the downward suck of your life

{But dem's the breaks, non?}

in the ivory arms of the mother you never knew,

drifting onwards to oblivion,

watch the

water

bleed.