In the quiet of the night,
a whisper moves.
A spark lights up—
soft, sudden…
like a muse breathing fire
into the dark.
The day has faded.
Only shadows now.
And the wind
takes its flight.
Somewhere,
a soft orange glow—
a place where hidden feelings go.
Twilight sits there, still and slow.
Numb…
but aching to be known.
Above,
in star-filled skies,
an attic waits
with a long, quiet sigh.
And a poet—
hand...
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