I waited for an answer, a note to rise, to carry the weight Of every word left unsaid. But the air did not tremble, No strings shivered under unseen hands,
By Edison kings12 months ago in Poets
I thought a song was endless, That its echoes would outlive the hands That first shaped its trembling chords. But silence is a thief,
I hum a song the wind once knew soft like dusk folding into the sea. It slips from my lips, weightless, drifting toward the silver hush of night.
I found your words in tattered ink, Folded soft where echoes sink. Each line a whisper left unsaid, A song unfinished, left for dead.
