I have no mouth, yet I carry voices far. I have no legs, yet I travel near and afar. I can bind things tight or bring them light, Invisible paths by day and glowing by night. What am I?

and the pay for the ancient soldier. I am a white stone that vanishes in a drink, yet I make the ocean heavy. I preserve the dead but bite the living. What am I?

No first: a darkness the whole word could rinse. Pour in ‘t’ secondly: a bad smell forcing wince. No four to dish in: Deadly seven within. As a hole, drain in home, or sand pulling you in.

Pages bound in silence, they cradle thoughts and dreams, a blank stage for the mind's pen to dance, hidden in backpacks and desks.

A nice play to get toasty and warm also good entrance for Santa to enter from a snow storm