The Wilted Garden of Us
Aug 7, 2024
In the quiet hush of morning’s gray,
A question lingers, cold and lone.
Shouldn’t I be the one you seek,
When whispers turn to silent moan?
Amid the chaos, fleeting days,
Where shadows dance and hopes recede,
Shouldn’t we, once woven tight,
Now find our hearts begin to bleed?
Our love, once a garden fair,
Now wilts beneath a careless hand.
Shouldn’t we have nurtured well,
Yet here we watch it fade to sand?
In empty glances, hollow touch,
The seeds of doubt begin to sprout.
Shouldn’t we, through every trial,
Have fought to cast the darkness out?
In the tapestry of fading light,
Where dreams dissolve and echoes blend,
Shouldn’t we, once so aligned,
Now face the truth we can’t defend?
