Where Cracks Begin

I stand on thin ice,
Each step a question, each crack a reply.
The cold hums low beneath my feet,
A fragile hymn, steady, incomplete.
The weight of the past whispers too loud,
Ghosts of the year pull me through the crowd.
I carry them still, though I try to let go,
Their shadows linger, soft but slow.

And yet the ice holds.
It sings, it bends, but it does not break.
And yet I move.
Through the strain, through the soundless ache.

The frost bites deep, sharp and bare,
But I feel alive, I find myself there.
No maps, no guide, no lines to trace,
Just the fragile beauty of this quiet place.

The cracks beneath are the cost of time,
Marking the moments I’ve called mine.
No promises made, no safety line,
Just the sound of the world and this life of mine.

And yet the ice holds.
It sings, it bends, but it does not break.
And yet I move.
Through the strain, through the soundless ache.

The past is loud, the future unclear,
But the now cuts through like frozen air.
To stand on the edge, to balance the weight,
Is to trust the ice and call it fate.
And yet the ice holds.
It hums, it groanWs, it shifts, it aches.
And yet I move.

Through the cracks, through what the ice takes
And yet the ice holds.
It hums, it bends, it shapes, it creates.
And still I rise.Through the grind, through the opened gates.