deep in our psyches we are all brave explorers if we want to be
we scribble out words because often times it’s the only voice we have
it is comforting to think we are watched over protected from harm
meant for warmer times the stand is shuttered; sometimes cold can be too cold
lurking in shadows moving quietly at night spreading happiness
staking your claim to a little slice of the world that also owns you
no matter the smile the vacant, distant stare can be unsettling
when snow gathers on the incinerator door the past has moved on
it’s an icy grip that paints the window with frost so delicately
winter settles in blanketing all equally and without conscience
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