The Thread and the Shadow: A Descent

Do not trust in gleaming rust,

Nor beauty's husk, a crumbling dust.

Fame's a moth to charring light,

That burns the soul and steals the night.

Behind the veil, the shadows breed—

Where silence chokes, and spirits bleed.

Some crave the roar, a hollow plea,

But lose the void where shadows flee.

Some bonds are venom, deeply sown,

Not born in warmth, but chilling moan.

When truth is scarce, we scream its lie;

When solace fades, we watch it die.

A heart consumed by nameless dread—

It doubts the living, grieves the dead.

And from that doubt, a silence grows—

To wither, break, where nothing shows.

But doubt, a tendril, seeks to bind,

For trust, a ghost, it leaves behind.

Both cannot breathe the air you crave—

One digs a pit, one seals the grave.

The thread that binds two souls to pain

Is not of steel, but woven bane.

It frays with hope, it snaps with peace,

And tightens when the fears increase.

So walk not proud through ash and gleam,

But dragged along a waking dream.

Let trust be blind, and doubt descend—

A choking grip, with no true end.

And if you fall, fall into night,

And let the darkness claim your sight.

For every heart that dared to feel

Was long betrayed—and turned to steel.

The steel may bend, a grinding plea,

But shards remain for all to see.

And though we grasp at threads of grey,

The shadows claim their final day.

For every mend, a deeper scar,

Beneath the cold and distant star.