Whispers of the unknown
People say we should face our fears,
but how do I face mine
when the path leads only forward,
never back?
That wild journey called death—
a story with no storyteller,
a door with no return.
Is there light beyond,
or only endless dark?
With each passing day,
with every fleeting celebration,
I hear time whispering, ticking,
pressing against my skin.
Will I forget it all,
or will my memories follow me,
flickering like dying embers?
What do I do with this feeling—
this restless fear,
this quiet terror,
this ache of uncertainty?
I think I hate this most:
not the fear itself,
but the weight of having no choice.
Yet, if I could choose…
Would I cling to forever,
or let go of a world that never stops hurting?
Copyright © Olivia Blessing | Year Posted 2025
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