I've lost the race with the seasons, lost in despair, A fragment of my essence suspended in the ominous air. Another piece rests in the soil's cold embrace, Chasing rain clouds, yet time, relentless, sets the pace.
Prayers elude me, lost in the dark, One part inscribed in fairy tales, a haunting spark. Another in the abyss of poems resides, Drowning in the feeble words, where silence abides. All that remains is a legacy of hushed tides.
No more wrestling with the demons of isolation, A piece concealed in the eerie calm's fixation. Another consumed in the flames of wrath, I've hushed myself, mourning along the gothic path.
Your heart, now as ashen as the shadows in my hair, a spectral aftermath.
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