These faces, everywhere—
shadows in the crowd.
They whisper, they doubt,
as if I am dust in the wind,
unworthy of the storm.
And them—who were they?
Once, they were my shelter,
my sanctuary, my sun.
Now, they are echoes in hollow halls,
leaving me an empty vessel,
a grave where love once bloomed.
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
These faces, everywhere—
shadows in the crowd.
They whisper, they doubt,
as if I am dust in the wind,
unworthy of the storm.
And them—who were they?
Once, they were my shelter,
my sanctuary, my sun.
Now, they are echoes in hollow halls,
leaving me an empty vessel,
a grave where love once bloomed.
Request permission to use this poem