Whispered Red

Whispered Red

Whispered red descends,

On the breath of morning’s chill,

Gone before the sigh.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

I watch it fall and wonder,

Why does the world tremble in these quiet moments?

The light touches nothing and yet leaves its mark,

A memory of warmth that vanishes before I can hold it.

Is it loss, or the pulse of life

Reminding me that nothing lingers for long?

The morning air bites at my thoughts,

Yet there is clarity in its sharpness.

I feel the edges of time,

The fragile thinness of existence,

And I ask, how much do we see

Before it is gone?

The red is not just color, it is warning, it is echo, it is breath.

It teaches me that noticing is the only way

To make a fleeting thing eternal,

Even if only in memory.

I linger in the silence that follows,

Letting the emptiness fill me,

Realizing the world is made of departures,

Small sighs, and sudden awakenings.

This poem is short, yet it holds everything

I cannot say aloud.

It asks me to see, to feel, to pause,

And to let go before the moment passes.

And in that letting go,

I find a pulse beneath the quiet,

A truth that whispers softly,

Red remains in the heart, unseen but alive.

Even as the morning fades,

Even as the sigh disappears,

Something lingers, waiting for the next breath.