Rhythms

In the hush of the night, breaths punctuate stillness,

a soft rising tide, where shadows conspire.

Each inhale a promise, a thread of my willness,

each exhale a question, a spark from the fire.

I lie awake, listening, feeling the rush,

the sound of existence, my own heartbeat near.

In this quiet realm, I am part of the hush,

a rhythm unbroken, yet tinged with deep fear.

What if I dissolve, as the air slips away,

what echoes remain when this voice fades to gray?

Yet in this soft solitude, I find I'm alive,

as breath weaves a tapestry, urging me to thrive.