Upon this canvas, pure and white,
A world awaits both bold and bright;
Untouched by ink, by word, and thought,
A silent whisper, of a battle fought.
It beckons dreams yet to take flight,
A haven for both day and night alike;
Innocent, vast, with bounds unknown,
A field of endless longing sounds.
A portal to the deep unknown,
Where every echo builds alone;
The voice of hopes, the ghost of fears,
The laughter, sorrow, quiet tears.
With trembling hand, you shall claim,
A spark within this stillness, a name;
Each stroke, a heartbeat, a pulse of time,
A dance of rhythm, prose, and rhyme.
What tales shall rise from shadows cast?
What visions forged from futures vast?
With every mark, every blemish, a story born,
A blank page awaits, a crown adorned.
So let me breathe upon this plane,
And paint my soul with joy and pain;
For on this page, in silence stored,
The universe now unraveld.
In the quiet hush of fading light,
I cast my gaze on the path behind,
Moments woven in shadow and bright,
Fragments of memory, lost and entwined.
Why did the laughter fade into sighs?
What made the sun set on dreams once bold?
In whispers of time, a million goodbyes,
Echoes of stories that never were told.
Was it the choices, the paths that we chose,
Or the winds of fate that blew us apart?
Each step a question, each withered rose,
A riddle that lingers, deep in the heart.
The laughter of friends now a distant refrain,
Fleeting like mist on a chilly dawn,
What held us close, and what brought us pain?
In the tapestry woven, where have we gone?
Yet in the ache of what’s lost, I find
A beauty in lessons, a truth to embrace—
For time's gentle hand, though often unkind,
Shapes us anew, leaves a delicate trace.
So here I stand, with the stars in my eyes,
Asking the questions, seeking the why,
In the weave of our lives, every tear, every rise,
A tapestry rich, under the vast, open sky.
