A restless hush pervades the quiet shore,
Though waves repeat what they have said before.
No peace arrives to fill the aching frame,
Each sunset looks the same, a muted flame.

The night drips dry upon a thirsty tongue,
While sleepless hours claw where thoughts are hung.
Old songs return and circle, tight and thin,
Their looping lines grown sharp beneath the skin.

The hours stretch, unmarked by rest or grace,
Each moment presses deep into its place.
The body begs for silence, pleads for ease,
Yet mind denies the soul such gifts as these.

Each breath is shallow, drawn through threads of fear,
Each sigh a sign that solace won’t come near.
The dreams dissolve before they can begin,
And morning comes with nothing left within.

Where strength once lived, a hollow makes its claim,
A furnace cold, untouched by former flame.
To build anew from ruin, to restore—
Would ask for rest I cannot yet implore.

But still I sit, though every nerve is frayed,
Awaiting peace, however long delayed.
No hope remains, no promise yet is made—
But I endure. I do not look away.