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The Silent Door
A quiet wind stirs the fading light,
Whispering secrets to the coming night.
A threshold stands where shadows blend,
Not a wall, but a gentle end.
No clang of locks, no jarring sound,
Just soft earth and sky unbound.
The door swings wide, not dark, not grim,
But painted with stars that are softly dim.
The river flows, its waters deep,
Cradling dreams in eternal sleep.
The moon above casts its silver thread,
A tapestry woven for the silent dead.
Yet, death’s no thief, no cruel hand,
But a guide to a promised land.
A mirror where life’s glow persists,
A passage where the soul exists.
In the quiet of the shadow’s embrace,
There lies no fear, no time, no race.
Only echoes of love, softly spun,
A reunion with the stars, the moon, the sun. 2 replies
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