I asked the poet, "What life is,"
In the shadowed corners of my mind, where whispers flee,
They met my gaze with eyes that held the midnight's dread,
And in their words, a haunting beauty softly spread:

"Life," they said, a fractured mirror reflecting fractured souls,
In its shattered pieces, where dark despair often strolls,
A labyrinth of thoughts, like a riddle without a key.

It is the moon's pale face, a distant, solemn ghost,
And the restless oceans, where sorrow's waves are tossed,
Life, a burning candle, flickering in the abyss,
In the suffocating silence, where dreams find their remiss.

It is the whispers of ancient, silent trees,
And the whispers carried by the autumn breeze,
A voyage through the twilight, both near and far,
Where souls seek solace beneath the evening star.

.    .    .