November

Grey clouds gather like mourners uncalled,

The sky hangs heavy, unmoving, enthralled.

Another year descends without sound,

No flame, no voice, just hollow ground.

The date returns like a blade grown cold,

Etching the names that time couldn’t hold.

No solace, no speech, just silence refined,

A requiem stitched through the seams of the mind.

No candles flicker, no warmth draws near,

Only the chill that absence makes clear.

Their faces blur where memory slips,

Salt and sorrow on ghostless lips.

I toss the year, to the dark and unknown,

Each loss a stone I carry alone.

No prayers remain, just this quiet art,

To bury the dead inside the heart.