In the cradle of silence, where whispers grow old, Lies the universe woven in threads spun of gold. Stars are but sequins, stitched high in the night,
By Luciaabout a year ago in Poets
She wakes before the sun can rise, With weary hands and heavy eyes. The clock ticks loud, a cruel refrain, Marking the hours of joy and strain.
They wake to the sound of an empty home, A silence that whispers, “You’re on your own.” The clock ticks loud, the rooms stand still,
The morning bell tolls, a solemn chime, Dragging us forward through corridors of time. Gray walls whisper stories of dreams left behind,
Once, we roamed in fields of green, Chasing light beneath the trees, Laughter echoed, skies were clean, We lived as one with nature's breeze.
You are the ocean, vast and deep, With secrets hidden, memories steeped. Each tide a pull of joy or pain, A rhythm born of loss and gain.
There’s a silence where your voice once stayed, An empty space where memories fade. The world moves on, yet here I stand,
In every heart, a spark resides, A glow that warms, a bond that guides. Through winding paths and skies so wide, Friendship walks right by your side.
Beneath the roof, the storms may pound, Yet peace within these walls is found. The world outside may shake and roar, But here, we’re safe, forevermore.
A blank canvas, stretched and bare, Holds whispers of a world laid there. Each brushstroke births a voice unknown, A tale of light, of stone, of bone.
Beneath the sky, beneath the earth, Lies the seed of family’s worth. A sturdy tree with branches wide, Its roots run deep, where love resides.
You rise each day with a heavy heart, A quiet war, a world apart. No medals gleam, no banners wave, Yet still, you fight to feel brave.
