Quiet Voices
I find myself drifting, lost in a murky sea of shadows. Alone, I'm enveloped by the weight of stories unmentioned and cries that echo silently. Darkness wraps around me, a tangible force, greedily snuffing out every spark of light I manage to kindle, every frail hope that attempts to surface from my soul's depths. Caught in this web, I ponder: why have the shadows singled me out? Why does their cold grip feel so intimately suffocating?
Desperately, I seek a sliver of light, a mere beam to pierce this darkness, guiding me back to myself. I yearn to view the world through others' eyes, bathed in sunlight, its edges soft and welcoming. Yet, in my world of endless night—where dawn is but a myth—I am trapped. My existence is laid out on a canvas drenched in sorrow, in a place where colors fade before they can bloom.
Why does my life seem so barren, so utterly devoid of any sign of existence? Why am I condemned to dwell in this realm of shadows, unseen, removed from the vibrancy of life? The silence of this dark, swamp-like existence is occasionally broken by whispers—voices that aren't mine, sharing secrets too profound for me to grasp.
These voices offer no comfort; they are mere echoes of solitude, stark reminders of the chasm that lies between me and the distant sound of laughter. I strive to find my own voice among them, to unearth a fragment of truth in the chaos, a hint of myself amidst the alienation. Yet, it remains just beyond reach, rendering me voiceless, a specter in my own tale.
Even here, in the deepest recesses of the darkness, a part of me wants to resist... A stubborn flame flickering defiantly against the night... It speaks of a hope, a relentless belief that beyond this oppressive darkness, a light awaits...
So, I press on,
a wanderer amid the shadows.
In search of a crack,
in the impenetrable darkness.
A path, leading me back,
to the daylight.
Desperately, I seek a sliver of light, a mere beam to pierce this darkness, guiding me back to myself. I yearn to view the world through others' eyes, bathed in sunlight, its edges soft and welcoming. Yet, in my world of endless night—where dawn is but a myth—I am trapped. My existence is laid out on a canvas drenched in sorrow, in a place where colors fade before they can bloom.
Why does my life seem so barren, so utterly devoid of any sign of existence? Why am I condemned to dwell in this realm of shadows, unseen, removed from the vibrancy of life? The silence of this dark, swamp-like existence is occasionally broken by whispers—voices that aren't mine, sharing secrets too profound for me to grasp.
These voices offer no comfort; they are mere echoes of solitude, stark reminders of the chasm that lies between me and the distant sound of laughter. I strive to find my own voice among them, to unearth a fragment of truth in the chaos, a hint of myself amidst the alienation. Yet, it remains just beyond reach, rendering me voiceless, a specter in my own tale.
Even here, in the deepest recesses of the darkness, a part of me wants to resist... A stubborn flame flickering defiantly against the night... It speaks of a hope, a relentless belief that beyond this oppressive darkness, a light awaits...
So, I press on,
a wanderer amid the shadows.
In search of a crack,
in the impenetrable darkness.
A path, leading me back,
to the daylight.
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