A stand was taken to blunt the rising heat,
A choice that forced the steady pulse to beat.
A sudden glance made gratitude too clear,
A surge of something never meant to fear.
Now strains a wire, stretched too taut to cross,
Where every inch is measured by the loss.
The silent pull, the tangled webs we weave,
Are granite gates that force the soul to grieve.
A stone-cold gaze locks on a distant figure,
While swallowing the truths that pull the trigger.
A rhythmic step, a ghost within the hall,
Two hollow beats against a rising wall.
A certain cadence, songs I shouldn’t play,
The gold that flecks a long and weary day.
A passing shadow starts the aching game;
The porcelain stays cool against the flame.
For when the air begins to sharply chill,
The vein still beats while everything stays still.
A figure waited where the shadows sleep,
A heavy weight a soul is sworn to keep.
The nerve was there to linger, not to speak,
The courage found, then suddenly grown weak.
It’s better with the longing held in sight,
Like dust motes dancing in the fossil light.
No vows are breathed, no promises are made;
The embers pulse, then flicker in the shade.
A single spark would strip the circuit thin,
The hardened surface keeps the pressure in.
Weight enough to let the tension be,
A captive wind that cannot bend a tree.
A quiet space where shadows softly lean,
To bridge the gap where shadows intervene.
I turn the lens away from where you stand,
And trace the hollow lane across the sand.
The pages turn to shroud the written trace,
The pulse of stone, a stillness in the space.
