where shadows speak.

In the hollow of my chest, a storm brews quiet,

A thunder without sound, a flame that cannot riot.

The moonlight falls like shattered glass,

Painting my solitude with shards that pass.

The road before me bends into mist,

Each step a whisper, each breath a fist.

The one I cherish is a ghost in the air,

A silhouette of longing, a love laid bare.

Loneliness, the cruel artist, carves its lines,

Etching the silence with aching designs.

The wind hums songs I cannot sing,

A melody of loss, a tear on its string.

Yet even in this hollow, I find a spark,

A fleeting glow in the deepest dark.

Though much is broken, undone, and awry,

The stars still gather to light the sky.

So, I write my sorrow, let it bleed,

Words like rivers, meeting my need.

For somewhere within this shadowed art,

Lies the seed of hope—a mending heart.

©Bunguswa™