In the Threads of Being

A hopeless shade of grey whispers

Across the edges of my being,

Tangled in the remnants of a past,

Threads of memory woven in silence,

Each pulse an echo of what once was,

Each breath a tremor of what still is.

I walk the battlefield of my thoughts,

Where shadows dance between despair

And the fragile hope of becoming whole.

Grief wears many faces here,

An old friend, a restless stranger—

Both linger, both fade.

In the quiet storm of longing,

I learn to cradle the chaos,

Where pain is not a wound,

But a flame that melts away the walls,

Turns sorrow into gold,

And the alchemy begins.

I am both the storm and the eye,

Both the wound and the healing—

And I need not choose.

For I am all of this,

A tapestry of broken moments,

A sanctuary of scars.

So I let go,

Let the sea take me in,

Surrendering to the beautiful disarray

Of being alive.