The quill of a forgotten moment, 
a signature of time upon the sky, 
languid white clouds drifting by, 
spurs a sharp pain that wouldn't go, 
strikes paper filled with imprints, 
ink staining along a cracked soul.

The hand moves in quiet rebellion, 
scraping against the silence left behind, 
words spilling like embers from a fire 
long thought extinguished but still breathing, 
its warmth aching, its hunger unspent, 
spreading across the page like memory unbound.

Each letter carves a reckoning, 
a whispered surrender to the weight of thought, 
lines bending beneath the force of absence, 
threading syllables through veins of ink— 
a map to loss, to longing, to all things unnamed, 
etched deep into the marrow of the moment.