Silver Threads of Life

A crack of bone, a whisper lost. The weight of

frost on sleeping moss. I wore the ache like a heavy

cloak. A fragile word I never spoke. But life descends

on silver thread. To find the living and the dead.

It weaves through shadows deep and cold, a story waiting to

be told. The hollow space old can heal. A tangled net

of what we create. It holds the echo of your

name. The moth attracted to a flame. But life descends