In the hollow hum of silent walls,
Where shadows stretch, but never call,
A breath is held, a sigh is caught,
And in this quiet, battles fought.

The empty chair, a sentry cold,
Remembers warmth it used to hold,
But now it sits in vacant grace,
A monument to lost embrace.

Time drips down like a solemn tear,
Through hands that once held all things near,
Now open palms grasp only air,
A whisper lost, a vacant stare.

The clock ticks on, a metronome,
Marking moments left alone,
Each beat a pulse that speaks of pain,
Of echoed names and faces faint.

Yet in the quiet, there is peace,
A place where fleeting dreams can cease,
For even in the void’s expanse,
We find ourselves, a fleeting chance.

So here I sit, no longer blind,
In solitude, my soul defined,
For loneliness, a hollow tune,
Is where I find myself attuned.

✍️Darkadona