The night is long,
each moment returns.
Every second a blade,
cutting the same.
Cruel is the silence
when I call for an answer,
a rope to climb,
Or a whisper to hold.
I stand upon the horizon,
alone with my longing.
From where will it rise,
the voice that breaks the night?
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 1:37 AM UTC
