Cold

I wrote this last year, but I thought I'd post it to give everyone an idea of what kind of poet I am. Critque is welcome and appricated.

Cold

I am cold. The ice runs up my legs,
I cannot die, I cannot live,
I cannot laugh, I cannot play,
It doesn't matter the time of day,
Sunshine, rain, snow
Whether the temperature is high or low,
I am cold.

I am cold. The ice holds me together.
Keeps me strong, stronger then the leather,
Of other people who go unprotected,
Who risk their feelings and their lives,
Who risk the javelins and the knives,
Against those who wish to hurt me, wish to love me, wish to know me,
I am cold.

I am cold. Fortress of Ice, Icicle Bone,
Into the frozen night I go alone,
Those who lead freeze before me,
Those who follow freeze behind me,
I never look, unwilling to behold,
What happens to those who fail,
I am cold.

I am cold. I walk during the day and the night,
Never dying, Never living,
Always there, Always there,
How else can I protect myself,
From those unwilling to leave me alone?
Since they persist and don't go home,
I always press on, never stopping, never dying,
Into the endless snow and ice,
That never lie, and are never nice,
I protect myself by walking alone,
Into the ice storm of old.
I am cold.

...it almost sounds like a litany. But yes, I know it's not (not the form); I suppose it's the repetition - which worked, by the way. I'm not much of a poet myself. In class, I always got stubborn when someone tried to redo my rhyme scheme or picked on my meter.

But I loved the flow (and conveyed feeling) of the first three stanzas. The last seemed a bit off. You broke the pattern there...and it felt as if it were bleeding away, instead of coming to a point like the rest. Meant to? ...I've done it before.

Great frigidity though; I could feel that.