Frosted Breath

Space flows freely,

following the curvature of a frosty breath—

shaping and molding,

forever changing.

Invisible particles

holding fast

to all they know.

Afraid of what?

A single space.

A single molecule out of place.

A crack in the foundation.

A tear in the veil

cast over our eyes,

allowing a glimmer of light

into the darkness.

Fear and anxiety

cripple the stone statue—

shaking with terror,

untrained,

unprepared.

Frigid darkness offers

comforting sounds—

chaos filling the void—

yet something is happening.

Something strange.

The voices dampen.

Echo softer.

Warmer.

A cadence rising from within,

shaking the warrior of stone

from the inside.

Crumbled and broken,

yet standing proud—

a creation built

to protect,

to sacrifice,

to shield.

Something new fills the cracks—

a warmth unparalleled,

not old,

not new—

just warmth.

Warmth in the darkness.

Blinded by light.

Unable to see,

unable to speak,

overcome with grief,

unable to breathe.

To breathe?

Frosted breath

surrounds the shield.

A reminder of strength—

of holding fast,

of shielding darkness

from the light.

Shattered.

Crumbled.

Discarded.

Alone.

Light induces fear.

It passes through the warrior,

through every crack.

Pain.

Chaos.

Darkness.

Fear.

Voices echo

through the statue,

not around it.

Blinding, searing pain.

Shadows take shape.

Pain.

Inevitably, drawn by light,

frosted breath shapes the warrior.

Warming the soul.

Softening calloused hands.

Frosted breath.

Relieved of pain.

Eased of fear.

The tattered veil

falls softly into the snow.

Freed from stone,

a shadow appears—

new,

no longer letting the light pass through,

but seeing it,

acknowledging it,

mesmerized by it.

The warrior inhales—

long and violent—

full of wonder.

Never before.

Never again.

Eyes wide,

the warrior sees

a world of stone—

surrounded by others

still hardened,

still shielding darkness within,

casting no shadows.

Longingly, the warrior stands—

the urge to share,

to connect,

to breathe life outward.

Lungs full,

the warrior exhales.

Watching my frosty breath

shape and mold,

surrounding a warrior.

A frosty breath.

A blanket of protection.

A shield of unity.