Literature
The Lost Soul
A sad soul wanders, cold and grim,
Through nights so dark the stars grow dim.
Its heart a tomb of muted cries,
Pressed low beneath unyielding skies.
The wind sighs slow through twisted trees,
A mourning hymn on midnight’s breeze.
Each step it takes leaves shadows deep,
Where dreams are buried, angels weep.
No light can warm its hollow chest,
No comfort linger, hope find rest.
The moon—a ghost—lets fall its tears,
Reflecting all the soul’s dark fears.
It murmurs truths none care to hear,
To phantoms shaped from grief and fear.
Yet in that night, untamed and wild,
Lives beauty, bruised but undefiled.
A sad soul walks through endless night,
A fading echo void of light.
And though the world may never know,
It holds a depth no sun could show.
