We carry a lot with us.
I think it keeps us warm
Nik knacks and charms
Odd, old phrases; crystallized memories
Bottled-up stories blotted into worn fabrics
With time, what we harbor bleeds through the skin
Etching itself into our speech
Your laugh
My gait
How we prick and preen over the lines we tread
How much of us is really ours?
Even if we're to lose ourselves
We can still cement what may be missed.
Live through echoes we leave in others
We carry a lot with us.
I think it makes us colder
A cold you awaken to long after warmth has vacated
A rime that seeps to the marrow
A stasis
Imprisonment may yet yield insight
If one attempts to spark the wick
Moves to break the frost
Chases the wind to feed the flame
Where will they go and what'll be left?
Nevertheless, the wind tastes good on the tongue.