In the Hours that Drift

In the dawn of a day just like yesterday,

I wake to the sameness, a choreographed play.

Routine greets me with a well-rehearsed smile,

But the spark has been missing, gone for a while.

I tread familiar paths, the comfort of the known,

Yet a void whispers softly, its seeds have been sown.

The joy that was once there now feels like a task,

A shadow of wonder behind a cracked mask.

The moments, they blend, each hour the same,

A cycle unbroken, a never-ending game.

There's a thrill that eludes me, a piece left unseen,

A haunting reminder of what might have been.

In crowds, I'm surrounded, yet loneliness reigns,

A silent companion in invisible chains.

Numb to the laughter, to the sorrow, to the cheer,

I search for the missing, but it never comes near.

Excitement erupts like a firework's flare,

Bright for a heartbeat, then gone, thin as air.

Hollow within, where echoes reside,

The yearning persists, no matter how I tried.

There's a puzzle before me, its pieces askew,

I fumble and ponder, as seekers often do.

The answer, it hovers, just out of sight,

A distant, dim star in the blanket of night.

Yet hope, it remains, a flicker, a plea,

That one day the fragment will come back to me.

Until then, I wander in the maze of my mind,

Knowing the lost piece is somewhere to find.

In this realm of the mundane, where feelings confide,

I linger in shadows, with darkness as my guide.

Not sinking, but floating in an ocean so vast,

Finding comfort in knowing this too shall pass