In the whispering twilight

In the whispering twilight, where shadows dance like forgotten dreams, I wander through the labyrinth of my thoughts, a maze of echoes and whispers, Where each heartbeat is a drummer, and each breath is a sigh of the universe. Poetry, they say, is the evidence of life, the ash left by the flames of existence, And here, in this enchanted twilight, I feel the truth of these words, As memories surface like forgotten springs, glistening in the moonlight. My life burns with the ferocity of a thousand suns, each moment a spark, Each emotion a flicker of fire, illuminating the darkness of my soul. And as the flames dance, ever-changing, ever-devouring, They leave behind traces, shadows of what once was, ashes of moments lived. These ashes, these remnants of my burning life, gather in the corners of my mind, Whispering stories of love and loss, of joy and sorrow, of dreams and regrets. In this sacred space, where time seems to stand still, I let the ashes speak, their voices gentle yet powerful, like the murmur of ancient winds. Each word is a fragment of my soul, a piece of the puzzle that is my existence, And as I weave them together, a tapestry of light and shadow emerges, A poem born from ashes, a testament to the fire that once burned within me. The moon, a silent witness to my meditations, casts its silver light over the world, Transforming the night into a canvas of dreams, a stage for the dance of shadows. And in this moment, I understand the magic of poetry, Not just as words on a page, but as the essence of life itself, The ash of a burning soul, transformed into something eternal. In the end, we are all poets, weaving our lives into verses, Each heartbeat a line, each breath a stanza, each moment a poem. And as the flames of our existence burn bright and fierce, We leave behind a legacy of ash, a testament to our journey, A poem that whispers through the ages, a magic that never fades.