The pane a blur, a weeping, grey embrace,
reflects the storm inside, this haunted space.
Each drop a tear, a mirror to the ache,
that claws and whispers, for goodness sake,
just let me be, release this tightening hold,
this ancient sorrow, stories yet untold.
The shadows lengthen, fingers in the gloom,
exploring depths within this aching room.
My body, once a temple, strong and free,
now a cage of pain, where shadows decree
each fleeting movement, each breath I dare to take, a sharpened echo, for suffering's sake.
The wind, a mournful dirge, howls through the night, a symphony of pain, bathed in pale moonlight.
My spirit, tethered, struggles to ascend,
but pain's dark current threatens to descend,
to pull me under, into depths unknown,
where hope lies buried, beneath a heavy stone.
The raven's shadow dances on the wall,
a silent witness to my weary fall.
And yet, a flicker, deep within the grey,
a tiny ember, refusing to obey
the crushing weight of sorrow's heavy hand,
a stubborn spark, within this desolate land.
For even in the darkness, hope remains,
a fragile rose, blooming through the pains.
The storm may rage, the shadows may entwine,
but dawn will break, and with its light, will shine a promise whispered, on the morning breeze, of strength renewed, and a heart at ease.
The rain still falls, but gentler now its sound,
a soothing rhythm on the hallowed ground.
And in the quiet, a whisper takes its flight,
"I will endure, and I will find the light."
The window's frame, no longer holds me tight,
But opens wide, to a future, bathed in light.
Upon the marrow my flame becomes smoke,
sorrow left me for the moons delight. As rain
falls my heart remains bruised but hopeful.
©️ 2025 By Amanda Shelton