The mountain does not count the days,
It breathes in silt and exhales stone.
While empires flicker in a haze,
The granite stands, cold and alone.
The river writes a liquid script
Upon the canyon’s ancient floor,
A thousand years in every crypt,
A thousand heartbeats at the door.
We carve our names in shifting sand
And wonder why the tide returns,
Yet love is not a steady hand,
But the white fire that quietly burns.
So let the clock forget its gears,
And let the stars dissolve to grey;
What we have whispered through the years
The silence cannot take away
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 12:59 PM UTC
The mountain does not count the days,
It breathes in silt and exhales stone.
While empires flicker in a haze,
The granite stands, cold and alone.
The river writes a liquid script
Upon the canyon’s ancient floor,
A thousand years in every crypt,
A thousand heartbeats at the door.
We carve our names in shifting sand
And wonder why the tide returns,
Yet love is not a steady hand,
But the white fire that quietly burns.
So let the clock forget its gears,
And let the stars dissolve to grey;
What we have whispered through the years
The silence cannot take away