The Unbroken Thread

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The silent wound, it bloomed, you said,
A parasite of breath and dread.
It drank your sun, obscured your sky,
And taught your hopeful spirit to die.

A lover's gaze, a whispered vow,
The perfect scaffolding, then somehow,
A gentle shift, a fading light,
A ghost of comfort in the night.
You chased the echo, clutched at air,
Believed the promise, eased the snare.

Each time they left, a piece unmoored,
A vibrant color discolored, blurred.
Your laughter's echo, soft and strange,
Lost in that desolate, lonely range.
You sought your essence, scattered, frail,
Within the ruins of their tale.

But in that hush, that hollow space,
Where silence settled on your face,
A flicker stirred, a nascent spark,
Unseen, unheard within the dark.
Not born of anger, bitter spite,
But quiet, stubborn, inner light.

For though they stole your sleep, your sound,
And left you barren, lost, unbound,
They could not claim the deepest core,
The silent strength you held in store.
A tiny root, unseen, unknown,
Began to seek a truth, its own.

The tears that fell, a cleansing rain,
Washed off the dust of imposed pain.
The whispers ceased, the lies fell flat,
You saw the hollow truth, just that.
And in that clarity, cold and stark,
You found a pathway from the dark.

No sudden bloom, no grand rebirth,
But patient, slow reclaiming earth.
A hesitant step, a quiet sigh,
A gentle lifting to the sky.
To learn your laugh, to breathe anew,
To build a world that’s honest, true.

They tried to kill the soul, it's plain,
To leave an empty, silent stain.
But some deep core, though bruised and bent,
Holds fast to life, on self intent.
And from the ashes, soft and slow,
The unbroken thread begins to glow.


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