Pieces of a Smile

My breath billows, so alike to bed sheets on the wind. Given life with barest whisper.

Such is the taste of a cold and bitter morning.

Chased inside by this stinging blow,

I confine myself to a shelter carved by hands of industry.

Where a slow warmth emanates, through a feeble rush of air.

Taken from the world outside, both tamed and broken.

Made to serve, made to warm,

and against its’ very nature. Such power carries me unknowingly

through streets of ice, flowing by

unheard and unseen, as the world swims by my window.

My chosen tomb is silent, when compared to all around.

Muted to my selfish end. Gutted of meaning. Scenery forced by

without a second thought. These journeys,

so devoid of substance or the very sense of life,

are born of laziness and apathy, to which I saw:

No such thing in you.

Bundled as you were,

and coated in lavish boughs of green.

Alive enough to be a tree, as found within

another time, another place.

Full of life you called to me, and startled from such emptiness,

You called and called again.

You called to me in innocence, without a single word.

A quiet strength indeed.

Not buried in the weight of things

or trapped by vaguest choice. Freedom rang with every step,

and smile lent a voice.

For in your eyes such shining light, as if from distant star.

Wearied by the distance, and embraced

by that which I shall never know.

Could you be so broken?

Another woman who, while forced out in the cold,

is made to pick the pieces up, for prying eyes to hold.