The loneliest hours belong to the night… When the heart, already claimed, cannot welcome anyone else, yet the weight of solitude becomes unbearable. Though you cherish your freedom, in the stillness of the night, the inner voices emerge, whispers that pull you toward the void of despair, leaving you yearning for something as simple yet profound as an embrace… The comfort of touch. But, alas… The night thickens, the voices dissolve into noise, and that noise fades, leaving only emptiness. And in that emptiness, poetry arises… A way to stay anchored in this world, to connect, and to speak the language of emotions when everything else falls silent…
And it begins…
Silence… Again, an empty room,
A soul in agony, a heart in gloom.
A mind in vacuum, a void so wide,
Where butterflies in darkness hide.
But still, they shine with beauty bright,
Yet empty… lost in endless night.
The emptiness wraps me, soft and tight,
Like ropes of pain, that hold me right…
Don’t move, just lie, and feel the cold,
In emptiness, where nothing’s bold.
The whispers hum a haunting song,
A distant voice that feels so wrong…
Each breath a burden, slow and deep…
In silence vast, where shadows creep.
Yet still, I wait for dawn’s embrace,
To find some peace, some fleeting grace…
It’s a beautiful process when emotions evolve, and poems once fueled by rage start to embrace acceptance… Like a form of healing through art, where I allow myself to recognize, release, and ultimately find peace within. Words that once may have been instruments of pain now become my own therapists. Perhaps they won’t heal the wounds completely, but over time, they’ll help me let go of what’s beyond my control… They won’t allow me to taint my heart with hurt and anger. Instead, they’ll guide me to simply walk away…