The writings of some random dude on the internet
The hour before dawn is soft and deep,
Where silence lingers, where secrets sleep.
A hush of dark, a breath so still,
A world between the lost and will.
It is the time where dreams still glow,
Yet shadows wait, yet night won’t go.
But soon the sky will paint its hue,
And night will fade, as all things do.
Dear stars, do you hear my call?
Do wishes fade, or do they fall?
Does every dream reach past the sky,
Or do they drift, too small to fly?
I send my hope on whispered thread,
A fleeting thought, a word unsaid.
And though I wait with longing eyes,
I know you answer with sunrise.
The wind knows names we’ve left behind,
It sings them soft, it hums them kind.
It whispers through the open fields,
Of love once lost, of wounds not healed.
It calls the names we fear to speak,
The ones we lost, the ones we seek.
But listen close—it does not mourn,
For every name is still reborn.
Through the dark, they walk alone,
Each with light their hands have grown.
A lantern bright, a steady gleam,
A flicker soft, a golden dream.
Some may stumble, some may fall,
Some lights dim, yet still they call.
For in the night, where fears take flight,
A single glow can birth the light.
A single thread, so fine, so thin,
Weaves through the places we have been.
A stitch of love, a loop of pain,
A pattern formed by joy and strain.
And though it frays with age and strife,
It binds together threads of life.
No seam unravels, no path unwinds,
For time is stitched through heart and mind.
The years stretch on,
but loss does not fade—
it lingers, settling in quiet spaces,
in words left unsaid,
in moments I can’t get back.
The world feels heavier now,
like something is missing,
like everything is unraveling,
thread by thread,
and I don’t know how to hold it together.
I wish you were here.
You would have known what to say,
how to make sense of all this,
how to remind me
that not all is lost.
But you are gone,
and the silence you left behind
presses against my ribs,
dulls the colors of the days,
makes everything feel so distant.
I try to move forward,
but something in me still lingers
in the spaces where you once were,
where I wish I had stayed a little longer,
spoken a little more,
held on a little tighter.
And yet, the world keeps moving,
even when I am standing still.
She looks like me, but isn’t quite,
Her eyes too dim, her smile too slight.
She moves when I do, step for step,
Yet lingers still when I have left.
I wonder if she longs to be,
Not just a shadow lost of me.
Or if I am the one who’s trapped,
A ghost within the looking glass.
A feather drifts where the wind commands,
A stone stands firm where the earth demands.
One moves freely, light and high,
One holds steady, strong and dry.
Yet when the storm begins to wail,
Both will bend beneath the gale.
For neither weight nor flight alone,
Can brave the world when winds have blown.
Silence is not the absence of sound,
But the hush of leaves that kiss the ground.
It hums in blue of fading skies,
In golden dust where sunlight lies.
It shimmers soft in silver hue,
Between the breaths of me and you.
For silence sings if you will hear,
A symphony both far and near..
The streets are made of folded dreams,
Stacked high in towers, stitched in seams.
Each letter pressed, each story spun,
By hands long gone, by days undone.
But paper crumbles, ink will fade,
Time will steal the words we made.
Yet somewhere in the air they drift,
A whispered tale, a fleeting gift.