Armor - I

I look down, to shield my 

Face from the unyielding chill.

My pace picks up, but still my

Mind wanders in the icy thrill.

I raise my eyes, a stray

Strand of hair has stolen it's way

Into my sight, and the 

Carefully created creases, of

My hands in leather, first in pieces,

But now in two, reaches to

Brush away the unwanted.

I need to check the time.

My thick-skinned friend,

It leaps for my pocket,

And although I know, that

Inside that small patchwork maze,

Of fabric and thread,

There is something which lays,

Which if I focus my gaze,

Can lead my curiosity, to its end.

Of course, I cannot feel this,

The tortoise shell armour encases

My fingers, but still the sense of touch,

It lingers, but I know that it is there.

I shift my numbness, all five attached,

In an attempt to gain entry,

In an attempt to know.

But as much as I slip, and switch,

And swirl and twitch, my forged fervour

Seems but a glitch. The only way, the

One I know, is to dispose my gloves,

And dive right in. 

But in such fascination I forget,

That if I take them off, 

The stone will set. 

And although it may seem,

Like what I could feel, would be free,

I would be open, and as of yet,

I don't think, that frozen 

Is something I want my senses to be.