Silence

Silence is the breath of words stifled before their birth,

A mouth sealed by the weight of reality, where feelings find no haven.

For those who depart never truly leave,

And what follows is the fall, a quiet prelude to spring.

If fate is solitude shared, can joy ever be whole?

The death of words returns as hearts pressed tight, as tears resting beneath weary eyes,

Hope fading slowly, a flicker turned to ash.

It appears as shadows in the sun, as dreams that twist into night’s torment,

And no prayer can soften the stone of a closed heart.

The quietest mind carries the loudest storms,

Perhaps we were meant to unravel, to walk separate paths.

Take this breaking as bread—A sacrament of what was, and a whisper of what remains.