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the marrow of the moment
The quill of a forgotten moment,
a signature of time upon the sky,
languid white clouds drifting by,
spurs a sharp pain that wouldn't go,
strikes paper filled with imprints,
ink staining along a cracked soul.
The hand moves in quiet rebellion,
scraping against the silence left behind,
words spilling like embers from a fire
long thought extinguished but still breathing,
its warmth aching, its hunger unspent,
spreading across the page like memory unbound.
Each letter carves a reckoning,
a whispered surrender to the weight of thought,
lines bending beneath the force of absence,
threading syllables through veins of ink—
a map to loss, to longing, to all things unnamed,
etched deep into the marrow of the moment.
