A Wreath for Sorrow

Have patience, my Sorrow…
You are no accident –
You are grown in the depths of the chest,
Where flowers bloom without the sun.

Be calm…
For in you – there is my song.
You asked for the night – and it has come.
Without thunder… without a voice.
It simply stands in the doorway –
Like an old lover,
Whom you no longer call by name,
But whose scent you still remember.

The shadow thickens –
As if the air has begun to speak
In the language of forgotten phantoms.
It wraps around the hill,
Like a veil on the face of one
Who has already said goodbye to the body,
But has not yet departed into nothingness.

To some, it brings peace,
Like a warm blanket over scars.
And to others… pain.
Not new, but the one
That slept inside for decades
And awakened, recognizing her footsteps.

Sorrow – you are not a torment.
You are a memory.
The presence of one
Who is no longer here,
But whose whisper still
Touches my shoulders
In the longest night…