I have returned all that I borrowed—
the dreams,the heat, the light.
I face a narrow,stark tomorrow,
and welcome the coming night.
I drew a line around my name,
a border with no gate.
Inside,the rules are not the same:
there is no love,no hate.
I wonder—
if you reached out your hand to me,
would it find anything?
Or pass through where I used to be,
a ghost on winter's wing?
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 11:07 AM UTC
I have returned all that I borrowed—
the dreams,the heat, the light.
I face a narrow,stark tomorrow,
and welcome the coming night.
I drew a line around my name,
a border with no gate.
Inside,the rules are not the same:
there is no love,no hate.
I wonder—
if you reached out your hand to me,
would it find anything?
Or pass through where I used to be,
a ghost on winter's wing?
Request permission to use this poem