You were just a heart, an organ that beat enough
You were just a heart, an organ that beat enough,
to feel the need to raise a wall of stone,
a fortress around which the wind whispers forgotten memories,
and when the rain sheds its tears over the cold stones,
you remember you were also flesh, a body that felt enough,
to wear an armor of steel, gleaming under the sun,
a protective layer against a world that doesn't understand.
You were a soul, an abyss of desires and regrets,
that got lost enough, wandering on a path abandoned by others,
a trail hidden by the shadows of the dense forest,
where trees tell their story in whispers of falling leaves,
and you, precious child, have grown enough,
to forget how to love without fear, without reservations.
That is why this castle of bones was born,
a bastion that bears the burden of a survivor like you,
in a world where walls become the only friends,
and the silence between heartbeats is a song of melancholy,
where every added stone, every dried tear,
tells the story of a soul that learned to endure.
And yet, beneath this leaden sky,
where stars are just distant memories,
there is hope that behind every raised wall,
lies the desire to find the warmth of love again,
to dismantle the fortress, stone by stone,
until your heart learns to beat freely, without fear.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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