the balm of the march of january

sometimes the cold is within

the fold

of the innermost corner of belief. 

a word filled with bright hope, but in

these days

the meaning holds more of a 

dark secret. 

matter of time, until everyone else believes this secret with me; alone. 

sometimes the warmth comes from a friend. 

kind words reminding you the gold can be held at all times, and isn't just for dress up. 

sometimes the word comes from 

yourself, before. 

when you didn't know this, but did know where you had been already. and that path was

heavy

rutted with 

loneliness. 

from lack of exposure

and now you have the other kind

rutted with 

experience

to show you a different empty. 

but those molds needent cling to the present

the gift that you are to yourself. those ruts can be left behind

as a part of the road

you

are

traveling

.

continuous, dear heart. keep hope. keep love. keep eyes to the sky and ear to the birds for their songs 

call to the corner of your lips without fail.

learning: the practice of life. 

now. 

the war wages on.