Fading Light

The basement is a grave of scattered boxes,

yellowed newspapers, and shadows that linger,

while I fumble with a flashlight,

the beam waning, flickering like my thoughts—

a dying star, gasping in the dark,

its glow barely reaching the ground,

illuminating fragments of a past,

cluttered memories refusing to rest.

Each twist of the wrist

a hope for brightness,

but light leaks through the cracks,

every flicker a whisper, a question:

what am I searching for in this maze?

There’s a tightness in my chest,

like the weight of a secret I can’t bear,

each corner I turn hides something more,

a pulse of despair, thinly veiled by shadows.