A blade rests silent,
Moonlight kisses steel’s cold face—
The night breathes alone.

Winds hum through the grass,
A tune for the empty heart,
Each note fades away.

Mountains carve the sky,
Witnesses to fleeting steps—
Time drifts like pale smoke.

The black cat watches,
Eyes twin lanterns in the dusk—
What does it foresee?

A cicada’s cry,
Both fleeting and eternal,
Cuts through the still air.

Her shadow lingers,
Etched into the earth’s fabric,
A story untold.

Shadows stretch their arms,
Threads of time unravel slow,
A blade’s edge reflects.

In stillness, the truth:
To suffer is to endure,
Yet beauty persists.