fallow spear
I sit staring at the moon with tired eyes,
spilling my heart onto a silver platter...
as if the night might take pity on a soul
too scared to dream, yet still clinging to hope.
Hopelessly, I long for her comforting voice,
not to be heard,
but to be understood...
to feel, even just for a moment.
My thoughts drift like clouds across a summer sky,
each one a shadow of what once was...
memories not lived, but imagined.
The silence swells with her absence,
not loud, but infinite...
heavier than any confession I have ever shared.
And still, I remain, caught in the silence between heartbeats,
through the corridors of my mind,
both a curse and a quiet companion.
I watch the moon stir the tides of my grief,
her pale face distant,
as if she, once held something precious,
and now only watches, remembering.
dire sand