Whispers of the Invisible: A Poem of Silent Echoes

Whispers of the Invisible: A Poem of Silent Echoes

In the corners of bustling streets,

She glides, unseen, a whisper

Among the shouts of hurried feet,

Her presence but a flicker.

Walls of the city, vast and cold,

Absorb her silent plea,

An echo lost, a story untold,

In the shadows, she is free.

She is the whisper in the wind,

The ripple in the stream,

The softest note a heart can sing,

An ever-fading dream.

Her life, a poem written in mist,

Each step, a fleeting trace,

A soul, by the world dismissed,

Yearning for a place.

Through city parks and twilight's veil,

She walks, a ghostly light,

Her song, a sorrowful tale,

That echoes through the night.

In the twilight, she softly treads,

Through memories and sighs,

The moonlight, a halo 'round her head,

Reflects in tearful eyes.

She wanders through the silent night,

Invisible, yet near,

A specter bathed in pale moonlight,

Drenched in sorrow and fear.

She speaks in whispers to the stars,

Her voice, a gentle plea,

A melody from behind the bars,

Of her silent captivity.

Her steps leave no imprint behind,

No mark upon the sand,

A fleeting presence, undefined,

In a vast and empty land.

Her laughter, like the summer breeze,

Soft, ephemeral, and light,

Dances through the swaying trees,

Before fading into night.

She seeks a place to call her own,

A heart to understand,

But finds herself forever alone,

In a distant, shadowed land.

Through shattered dreams and broken glass,

She treads with quiet grace,

An unseen figure in the mass,

With tears upon her face.

Her song, a symphony of pain,

A chorus of the lost,

Resonates like autumn rain,

In hearts forever crossed.

Yet in her heart, a flicker burns,

A hope that will not die,

A wish for love, for life, she yearns,

Beneath the endless sky.

Invisible, she may remain,

A ghost in twilight's hue,

But in her song, there is a strain,

Of a soul that's pure and true.

For she is the invisible girl,

A spirit of the night,

Her presence, like a hidden pearl,

Shines softly, out of sight.

In every heart she passes through,

She leaves a trace, unseen,

A whisper of the pain she knew,

A glimpse of what has been.

And though the world may never know,

The tears she softly weeps,

Her spirit, like the rivers flow,

Through every heart, she seeps.

So, listen to the whispering wind,

The rustle of the leaves,

And in the quiet, you may find,

The song that she believes.

For in her silent, shadowed way,

She touches every heart,

A melody that will not sway,

A timeless work of art.

She is the echo in the night,

The whisper of the rain,

A soul that, though out of sight,

Lives on through endless pain