Beneath the stars that cast their glow,
She walks a path no one may know.
A girl in her twenties, fierce and meek,
Her silence louder than words could speak.

With a heart that beats like muffled drums,
Through nights of storms, the morning comes.
"Keep your chin up," the voices say,
But her battles rage in a quiet fray.

Between Scylla and Charybdis, she sails,
Her dreams like whispers, and her strength prevails.
The world’s a stage, and she must play,
Yet her soul craves an uncharted way.

Her thoughts like rivers, deep and wide,
A labyrinth where her fears reside.
Yet in her eyes, a fleeting spark,
A lighthouse glowing in the dark.

She wears her struggles like cloaks of stone,
A burden she carries all alone.
"Better late than never," she softly hums,
Counting battles lost, and victories won.

By the sweat of her brow, she earns her keep,
But her dreams are fields she longs to reap.
"Rome wasn’t built in a day," she knows,
Yet patience wanes as her yearning grows.

Her heart’s a battlefield, raw and scarred,
Each choice a dagger, each hope a shard.
"All that glitters is not gold," she sighs,
For life’s bright promises turn to lies.

By hook or by crook, she stays afloat,
Steering her life’s unsteady boat.
Through troubled waters, her spirit wades,
But her mind’s a maze of shades and blades.

Her friends, like shadows, come and go,
"Out of sight, out of mind," they show.
She smiles a mask, a practiced art,
But her grief runs rivers through her heart.

Each day’s a riddle, each hour a test,
She wonders when her soul will rest.
"Make hay while the sun shines," they say,
But her skies are clouds of endless gray.

She seeks solace in fleeting things,
In songs of birds and whispered springs.
Yet "every rose has its thorn," she learns,
As fleeting joys to anguish turn.

Her laughter’s a bridge to hide her tears,
Her courage a cloak to mask her fears.
"A stitch in time saves nine," she swears,
But her wounds run deeper than repairs.

Through sleepless nights, she spins her thread,
Of dreams unspoken, of words unsaid.
"Time and tide wait for none," she fears,
As youth dissolves into fleeting years.

She stands at a crossroads, her choices grim,
A flickering light, her chances slim.
"Cross that bridge when you come to it," she thinks,
As her weary soul to the future sinks.

Her mind’s a tempest, a ceaseless storm,
A battlefield where doubts take form.
"Fortune favors the brave," they claim,
But her courage flickers like a candle’s flame.

Her heart aches for a simpler place,
Where time moves slow, at a gentler pace.
But "the grass is greener on the other side,"
And life’s sharp edges won’t subside.

"Don’t put all your eggs in one basket," they warn,
But her scattered hopes are bruised and torn.
She clings to threads of fragile dreams,
Yet nothing is ever as it seems.

Her silent cries to no one are heard,
Her struggles wrapped in unspoken words.
"The pen is mightier than the sword," they say,
But her words, unsaid, still drift away.

Through valleys of doubt and hills of pain,
She fights her battles in the rain.
"Every cloud has a silver lining," she prays,
But the storm within her seldom sways.

Her soul’s a phoenix, rising slow,
From ashes where her passions glow.
"Better to have loved and lost," she sighs,
But loss is a shadow that never dies.

She hides her fears behind her eyes,
Her truths concealed, her smile a guise.
"Still waters run deep," they surmise,
But no one hears her muffled cries.

She learns that "this too shall pass," in time,
But patience feels like a mountain to climb.
Her faith, a fragile, flickering flame,
She wonders if her struggles are all in vain.

But "a journey of a thousand miles," they say,
"Begins with a single step each day."
She takes those steps, though shadows loom,
Through tunnels dark, she seeks the bloom.

Her twenties a chapter of quiet despair,
A tale of courage, silent yet rare.
"A diamond is formed under pressure," they state,
And she hopes her trials lead to fate.

For every wound her soul may bear,
A seed of strength is planted there.
"Good things come to those who wait,"
And so, she walks, her head held straight.

One day the storm will calm, she knows,
From pain and struggle, a garden grows.
"Where there’s a will, there’s a way," they vow,
And so, she moves forward—here and now.

.    .    .