Inside of this cave there is light,
where blurred shapes dance against
a far wall, and color slips silently
across rocky halls.
Here, stories of starry skies
are whispered in frosty breaths
around barely lit fiery pits,
this history that burns.
Memories lie like leaves at dawn
in fall, adhering to the rock strewn floor,
gathered around my ankles,
cushioned in remembering.
Signs and symbols from an outside world,
reflected back against a far wall,
ideas that fill each corner with
thoughts from another cave.
Reaching out these frosty breaths,
forming symbols and requisite signs,
to only touch that outside world,
to only see just one other cave.
Inside of this place there is a life,
where blurry hopes dance against
a far wall, where desperate voices from
other caves call.