A freezing of my frigid soul
it has rigid wrinkles etched
like calligraphy put into stone; there's
a permanence to my way, I've debated change
too many times within myself, I know
there's no hope in the fickle throat of one
who cannot walk the walk.

I rest my head at the
rotation of the light,
pray for a reprieve in the night, and
cast my lot with the hopeless youths who've
been lied to by kith & kin, or else
heard their own delusions in
each utterance they were given.
Either way, we've frozen souls and hearts melted
by warm tears pouring from
our own roaring storms.