winter spills and laughs upon on each leaf,
a bitterness of air as we prepare
to shed our skin,
the winter calls us to be uncomfortable,
admist the perilous joy of spring that haunts us in memory..
and we sink within our souls and eyes and rinse out our old beliefs.
we are a motion of the wind that is not to be consumed but wakened and brought forth
there is ink in our veins, words, and our eyes are weary and lost when we’ve forgotten
where we are, and just by the look, you can see a vast rare of storming seas for sometimes the language doesn’t need to be translated, but to be known.