The fire is gone, the ash is cold,
Few stories left, the truths grown old.
The heart once flamed, now beats in stone,
Content to wander on its own.
The feelings end, the silence waits,
Behind the rusted, heavy gates.
Tho’ shadows stretch and doubts remain,
It’s time to pack and move away.
Once gates are passed, the weight is gone,
Like breath held back for far too long.
New paths emerge where none have been,
A chance to start, to breathe, to dream.
No backward glance, no final plea -
Just steps beyond what used to be.
New dawn unbreaks the darkest night,
With morning’s chill and colours bright.
Escape
© Copyright: Марта Дорваль, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125080702154
Свидетельство о публикации №125080702154
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