Juliet died at my hand, when cold air hits your skin or eyeballs it can feel like thousands of tiny versions of me are piercing you.

I am an ancient a vessel for letters and stories, still used today to help those in need. When you finish the line I ring. What am I?

I am born in thought yet move like a stream, I can spark a fire or snuff out a dream. I leave no shadow, I carve no stone, Yet empires fall by what I’ve shown.

History and legions, Both comprise my kind, A milestone, so rarely spanned, All this time, entwined

A flying box that helped a driving piece of technology, sustained damage and failed to fly. Three years it has been in service, now a statue among the red regolith.