Scraps

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A scrap of light clings to what’s left of me,

the smallest remnant of warmth refusing to let go,

shivering at the edge of a dim and indifferent world.

A torn feather stuck between night and blur,

caught in the quiet where clarity dissolves,

holding a fragile sliver of borrowed glow

as if it remembers a sky it no longer belongs to.

Even broken things shimmer..

not out of strength but out of instinct,

but out of the love it once held..

out of the last defiance that survives inside

when the darkness forgets

for a moment

to swallow them whole.

-_-

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