Sleep Was Never Promised

What I buried doesn’t sleep beneath the frost,

Its breath still rises through the frozen ground,

The quiet keeps a tally of what’s lost.

Each choice I made, each bridge I coldly crossed,

Returns in whispers when there’s no one around—

What I buried doesn’t sleep beneath the frost.

The mirror shows the face that paid the cost,

And every glance repeats the same old sound:

The quiet keeps a tally of what’s lost.

I thought remorse would fade once lines were tossed,

That time could blur what shame refused to drown—

What I buried doesn’t sleep beneath the frost.

No prayer can thaw the ice I laid across,

Nor mercy find the depth I never found

The quiet keeps a tally of what’s lost.

So let the years accrue their brittle gloss,

And leave me where regret is safe and bound:

What I buried doesn’t sleep beneath the frost,

The quiet keeps a tally of what’s lost.