The night's deep well, where Whispers of a Silent Heart reside,
On silken winds, a phantom dance, where secrets softly glide.
My silent heart, a jade-clasped box, each thrum a muted strain,
Time, like thick honey, slowly drips, a sorrow's gentle rain.
Shadows on papered walls now bloom, with memories' faint trace,
Lost dreams, like plum blossoms, swept from a forgotten vase.
A single star, through clouded panes, a fragile hope's thin gleam,
While the world, in breathless hush, awaits the dawn's first beam.
A sigh, like rustling bamboo leaves, stirs tender thoughts anew,
Wrapped in the warmth of solitude, where only truths accrue.
The heart, a silkworm's hidden thread, its softest sighs impart,
Whispers of a Silent Heart, a world held deep apart.
In quietude, a lotus pool, where unseen depths unfold,
A universe of solitude, in stories yet untold.
My painted brow, a furrowed line, reflects the moon's pale light,
Whispers of a Silent Heart, alone in fading night.
