Halcyon

Ghosts of Stillness

This solastalgia was not supposed to linger,
Yet here I am, marooned on a platform of ghosts,
The train, a phantom blur that evaporated into light,
Defecting me as a voiceless echo, disbanding in the waft.

The dirge plagues the glen of my chest,
A tempest of silence ripping through my veins,
My trepidations blossom like rust on overlooked steel,
Roots of distrust twisting deep into the marrow of time.

I am a sculpture carved from the bones of yesterday,
Watching as they pursue stars that burst into dawn.
Their laughter dissolves like smoke in the space,
And I stay, catching the ashes of an untended fire.

Time trickles slowly, like rain entrapped in shattered glass,
A rivulet I can see, though never skim.
I am the shadow of a bird that forgot to fly,
Wings pinned to the earth, tethered to shirked skies.

I am the cold embers of a dream left behind,
A lighthouse drowning in a sea that never moves.
I scream, but the sound is devoured by the void—
A breathless wind, pivoting in circles, waiting for nothing.

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