Folded Paper

Folded paper,

Winter nights,

The quiet only silenced by cracking embers,

Bits of stardust glowing in the dark.

Ink stains and dried paint,

Crystals dangling from simple threads,

Grey dust sprinkles the dark void,

A reflection upon calm waves.

Scattered like petals,

Parts litter an old workshop,

Tools hang upon worn wood,

Scarred by use, a record of another time.

Folded paper,

A piece of the sky,

Stained and worn,

Yet just as bright.

Crackling embers, dangling crystals,

Light reflects upon white silver snow,

Like moon dust beneath the sun.

The smell of oil and paint are a memory,

The scent of wood and water a calming thought,

The quiet sounds, a soft song.

The cold is far away,

The void beyond my reach.

Ink stains and dried paint,

Scattered like petals,

Tools hang upon worn wood,

Crystals dangling from simple threads,

A record of another time, a dream.

Words are silent,

Words are powerful,

The folds hold them back.

Grey dust sprinkles the dark void,

The moon’s reflection upon calm waves.

Folded paper,

Winter nights,

A piece of the sky,

Stained and worn,

Yet just as bright.

Memory and dreams,

Thoughts and emotions,

Loud yet silent,

The quiet only silenced by cracking embers,

Bits of stardust glowing in the dark.

Crystals dangle from simple threads,

Worn and used,

They dance in the memory-filled air.

Light reflects upon white silver snow,

Like moon dust beneath the sun.

The smell of oil and paint are a memory,

The scent of wood and water an emotion,

The quiet sounds, a gentle song,

A record of another time, a dream.

Winter nights,

The quiet only silenced by cracking embers,

Bits of stardust glowing in the dark.

Ink stains and dried paint,

A piece of the sky,

Stained and worn,

Yet just as bright.

Scattered like petals,

Parts litter an old workshop,

Crackling embers, dangling crystals,

The cold is far away,

The void beyond my reach.

Memory and dreams,

Thoughts and emotions,

Loud yet silent,

Powerful yet gentle,

It's all a dream,

All a memory,

The folds hold them back,

Till they’re unfurled,

As ink upon folded paper;