In the depths where shadows weep,
Where night unfurls its silent sweep,
There lies a tale of endless woe,
A sorrowed life’s eternal flow.
The dawn breaks with a muted sigh,
Beneath a cold, indifferent sky.
The sun, a weary traveler’s lamp,
Flickers o’er a world grown damp.
In the garden of forgotten dreams,
Where love is but a fractured gleam,
The flowers bow their heavy heads,
Weighted by the tears they’ve shed.
A child’s laughter, now but ghost,
Haunts the halls where joy was host.
Echoes of what once was bright,
Dwindle in the creeping night.
The river’s song, a mournful dirge,
Its waters lost, no guiding surge.
It winds through valleys steeped in grey,
Bearing all the pain away.
In the market square of broken hearts,
Where every soul from life departs,
A silent crowd, a muted throng,
Shuffles forth, their hope long gone.
Each face a mask of dulled despair,
Eyes devoid of light or care.
Hands that once clasped dreams so tight,
Now tremble in the shadowed night.
The wind, a wailing banshee’s cry,
Sweeps the plains where memories lie.
It whispers tales of love and loss,
Of hearts encased in winter’s frost.
Beneath the weeping willow’s veil,
Lies a tombstone, cold and pale.
Inscribed upon its weathered face,
A name, a life, now gone, erased.
Yet in the dark, a glimmer glows,
A fragile flame, though sorrow knows.
For in the depths of darkest night,
There stirs a dream of morning light.
A mother’s lullaby, soft and clear,
A gentle balm for every tear.
A whispered promise in the dark,
A spark of hope, a fleeting arc.
Though sorrow weaves its endless thread,
And fills the heart with nameless dread,
Remember this: the night must wane,
And dawn will come to end the pain.
For every sorrow, every tear,
There lies within a hope sincere.
A promise born in twilight’s glow,
That from the depths, we shall bestow
A life renewed, a heart reborn,
To greet the sun of a new morn.
So in the shadows where you tread,
Fear not, for light lies just ahead.
