A little journaling exercise: write a poem. Now.
fragile
every breath like a needle-shard of crystal
some days
on other days
i turn upwards to the falling snow and let the chill wash over my face like a baptism
i am renewed
in a lonely sort of way
there is strength in numbers, the grey hairs tell me
as i watch them gather together in a growing mass
soon they will be a great force
maybe then, i will feel like one, too
perhaps not even in a lonely sort of way
in the meantime
they live under my hat
philosophizing and generally doing nothing of use
unlike the cleansing kiss of the snow, which gives me a useful red glow
swirling dream-like vision
and a cold I feel deep in my bones
the kind that aches
and lets me know that i am alive
fragile
but alive
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