You made a grave
miscalculation
to think volume
or intensity
negates intelligence
Ego carved from glass
fragile as a butterfly
on a winter’s morning
Delicate patterns
intricately twisted
into an outline
of armor
beautiful
but secure as frost
on an autumn leaf
Snowflakes fall
ironically
damaging your
gossamer wings
I would help warm them
but your ego would
shatter
cutting through
your frozen depths
to new earth
below the frigid
horizon