What Carves, Is Carved: Maxims on the Seasons of Softness

(If mosquitoes can spin wisdom, so can I..)

Mistakes carve us;
too much polish dulls.

Shame doesn’t end you -
it pauses you long enough to heal.

Humor carries a torch,
but guards the cave it should reveal.

Wisdom is error,
softened instead of shamed.

The vow of “never again”
is its own exhaustion.

Even steel remembers it was once molten;
even armor bruises slow corrosion.

We are not magnificent -
only stitched steady into the vastness.

Softness that survives itself
is its own kind of steel -
water that yields,
still carves stone.