In shadows deep, where silence weeps, I wait,
Upon the brink of fate’s cruel gate,
With trembling heart and tethered breath,
To speak of love would summon death—
Or worse, her laughter, sharp and cold,
To mock the words I dare not hold.
For what am I, but dust and air?
A phantom caught in love’s cruel snare,
I’ve been the fool, the silent pawn,
Used, discarded, and withdrawn,
A specter lost within the gloom,
Where joy and sorrow share one tomb.
She moves, a wraith, through haunted dreams,
Her voice the sound of distant screams.
I reach for her, yet hold my place,
Afraid to touch, to see her face.
For what if, once I dare to speak,
Her gaze turns cruel, her smile bleak?
The weight of years bears down on me,
Of laughter’s sting, of misery.
Each time I’ve tried to grasp the light,
It slipped away into the night.
And now I stand, a man undone,
A heart of ash beneath the sun.
But still, she calls, though not with words—
A whisper soft, like fluttering birds.
I hear her voice in every sigh,
In every wind that passes by.
Her laughter mocks me from afar,
A fading echo, like a star.
And yet, within this haunted space,
I long to see her fleeting face.
To speak the words that burn my soul,
Though speaking them may take its toll.
For in her hands, my heart would lie,
To beat, or break, or slowly die.
The moment hangs, suspended, still,
Like shadows on a moonlit hill.
The silence thick, it suffocates,
As love, unspoken, hesitates.
I dare not move, nor breathe, nor sigh,
For fear the dream may surely die.
But what is love, if not despair?
A flame that flickers, cold and bare.
It burns within, though not for long,
A fleeting note in sorrow’s song.
And so, I wait, in shadows deep,
Where silence reigns, and I must keep
My heart locked tight, my soul in chains,
Forever bound by love’s remains.
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The Master Poet congratulations
Thank you very much for your kind words, but close—maybe—but not quite. 😎