The walls still listen, but never reply,
the windows no longer watch the day.
Between portraits the years let die,
only melancholy chooses to stay.
I lost faces I never learned to see,
lost hands I never dared to hold.
Now they're shadows tangled silently,
in threads of silence, growing cold.
The floor creaks with forgotten tales,
whispers dust refused to erase.
Corners keep lives that left no trails,
that I never learned to face.
The empty chair still knows my name,
but never calls it only waits.
The clock has stopped its quiet game,
no longer hoping at the gates.
In drawers lie secrets fast asleep,
I never found the strength to read.
Letters unwritten, dreams buried deep,
desires I never dared to feed.
The curtains sway with the breath of air,
but there is no music, no warm light.
Only time, heavy with despair,
painting the furniture in quiet white.
In this room where I came undone,
there are no ghosts only absence.
And the fragile echo of someone
I once was… lost to silence.
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Puisi"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
