Echoes From the Void
Dressed in a curated grace,
We guard the fragile, superficial light,
Hiding the fractures of an inner space
That drags us through a solitary night.
Who should we blame for these conflicted ways?
Rich in composure,
Low on peace.
The quiet demons draw their subtle knots,
While the unspoken truths demand release.
Stars built inside the mind,
Implode on impact
Scattering the private altars into dust.
No battle is the same,
The unseen tallies grow,
The weight of what we cannot trust.
It is a longing, deep and vast and cold,
An invisible burden we are forced to hold.
A pulse that beats beneath a calm disguise,
A quiet fever hidden from public eyes.
Leaving us to play our pristine parts again,
While our wisdom is pulsing with arcane fervor,
Begging us to burn the silent, heavy chain.
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