Ink and Paper

The nights you’ve squandered, shadowed, cold, A silent tally, never told. The hollow ache, a constant guest, A day repeated, an empty test. No gentle dawn, no whispered plea, Change storms the gates, wild and free. A forceful hand, a midnight’s claim, Or rot in comfort’s fleeting shame. The fragile lies, the threads you weave, “Tomorrow comes,” the words deceive. But time, a thief, steals quiet grace, Leaving behind an empty space. Tonight, the pen a sharpened blade, In silent hours, a truth displayed. No guru’s wisdom, no magic gleam, Just ink and paper, a waking dream. Unmask the flaws, the buried fears, The whispered doubts of passing years. Tear down the walls, expose the lies, Where hidden truth in darkness cries. No borrowed words, no scripted fate, But your own voice, inviolate. The silence calls, a haunting sound, To face the shadows, stand your ground. Rewrite the scenes, reclaim the days, Forge a new path through life’s dark maze. No waiting grace, no soft reprieve, The pen’s sharp edge you must believe. To claim the story, fiercely done, Before the fading of the sun.