There is a shadow that stirs in my soul—
a wisp of ink I cannot quite trace.
It curls like smoke within a hollow bowl,
dancing just beyond my embrace.
And yet—ah!—how my heart beams bright,
for those whose laughter lights my skies.
My children, stars in velvet night,
are the compass where my purpose lies.
They beckon me forth, though the path is unclear—
forward I drift on fate’s feathered breeze.
The past may weep, but I do not steer
toward its echoes, only away with ease.
But oh, when silence is my only friend,
the dark returns with a velvet hand.
I reach for roots, for spells to mend,
but slip through sorrow’s sinking sand.
Grief, that trickster, ties me tight
as desire peeks with a cunning grin—
“What is it you seek, O child of light?”
A question loud as a violin.
Could it be something—boffo, rare?
A treasure tucked in dreams unseen?
I shout strange words into the air,
a mondegreen to cloak the in-between.
My soul, now gauze—a diaphanous thing—
still quivers from the storm I braved.
Yet through the fog, I see you, gleaming—
the light for which I long have craved.
You are the key, the sacred flame,
the answer in the starlit script.
The dark retreats, and speaks your name—
and from my soul, its grip is slipped.
The Writings of Felina Silver 
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