âembers in the quietâ
A javelin thrown through twilightâs veil,
piercing folds where silence sailsâ
a feather caught on whispered breath,
carrying grief between life and death.
In rooms where faded light descends,
a slow refrain, no need for endsâ
just gentle chords that hum and swell,
the stories only shadows tell.
A secret garden, overgrown,
with firefliesâ flicker, softly sewnâ
a psalm beneath the trembling stars,
an elegy for hidden scars.
No trumpet blares, no chorus swells,
just quiet hearts where longing dwellsâ
a hymn composed in muted tones,
felt deep inside, but never known.
The river bends but never breaks,
the fragile ache that daylight wakesâ
a silent prayer that lingers long,
a tender thread inside a song.
In this stillness, love is kept,
where broken wings and dreams have sleptâ
a lullaby for souls that roam,
a whispered hope, a quiet home.













