XVI The Tower

In the garden of us, the roses have withered,
once vibrant blooms now barely remembered.
The twilight descends with shadows of gray
as dawn’s promise fades, giving night full sway.

Our castle of dreams, now a crumbling keep,
whispers of echoes from towers so steep.
Once mighty walls, now cracked and decayed,
hold secrets of joy that silently fade.

The river between us runs shallow and dry,
once a torrent of passion, now a whispering sigh.
Pebbles of doubt gather ‘neath my feet
while currents of silence in eddies repeat.

A ship in the harbor, tethered and still,
sails furled tight, awaiting a will.
The winds of change stir a restless sea,
yet anchors of comfort refuse to set free.

A bird in a cage, wings clipped by gold,
dreams of the skies, of stories untold.
Bars made of memories, lock without key,
longing to soar, yet tied to this tree.

A lantern once bright now flickers and fades,
its light dimmed by shadows, its warmth in cascades.
Wax pooling slowly, time’s silent decay,
each drip a reminder of what slips away.

The clock on the mantle ticks without sound,
marking moments where truth could be found.
Hands that once pointed to futures so bright,
now circle in silence, denying the night.

In the tapestry woven with threads of our past,
frayed edges unravel, no longer steadfast.
Patterns once vivid, now muted and cold,
a story half-told, a vision half-hold.

A maze of emotions, no clear path in sight,
we wander in circles, both day and night.
At crossroads we linger, too fearful to leap,
bound by a history we struggle to keep.

So here we remain, in this twilight refrain,
caught between freedom and comfort’s chain.
Silent symphony of heart and mind’s plea,
yearning for flight, yet rooted like a tree.