Ashes in the rain

The night hangs heavy, a widow's veil,

Each breath a stone, each step a trail.

Through the thorns of days unyielding,

Hope becomes a scar, no longer healing.

They leave when shadows stretch too long,

The ones who sang your morning song.

Friends once bound in whispered trust,

Scatter like wind-swept grains of dust.

Is it me, or is it the tide?

That pulls them away, arms open wide.

Or is it the mirror's fractured face,

Reflecting a world devoid of grace?

Their laughter echoes in foreign halls,

While silence claims these crumbling walls.

Loneliness, a patient thief,

Steals the echoes, feeds the grief.

Yet beneath the weight, a truth lies bare,

Not all who stay truly care.

For bonds that break in the fiercest fire,

Were never forged with true desire.

And still, amidst the bruised refrain,

Life finds beauty in the rain.

For earth reddens on the rain droplets,

So does the ash rest in a common urn.

© Bunguswa ™