If I were to speak, would my words pierce the dense silence that surrounds me like a shroud
If I were to speak, would my words pierce the dense silence that surrounds me like a shroud,
Or would they be lost within it like a dream adrift in the morning mist, forgotten and unknown?
Not every sound penetrates this stasis, heavy and filled with mysteries hidden in shadow,
I watch the crowds pass by me, as if my pulse were a thread of smoke, invisible.
My whisper is a gentle murmur, always on the edge, never loud enough to matter,
What silent pains do you carry, my love, like stones hidden in your soul?
Does guilt overwhelm you when you ignore the fragile things that dwell in shadow, unknown,
Or do they lose their power in your heart, like memories that slip away like sand through fingers?
In the dust I breathe beneath the wooden floor, I trace lines through cracks, a hidden sanctuary,
A secret refuge of cobwebs and shadows, where everything that disappears seeks to find its place.
Here, all that is unseen searches for meaning, to weave its story into the eternal silence,
Like an echo vibrating through time, in search of purpose, of a calling beyond the horizon.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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