When the Ledger Is Closed. Poem, by Friendship, at My poetic side

When the Ledger Is Closed

I have been a collector of quiet empties

rooms that echo with the sound of doors that never opened,

photographs that have faded to ash,

names whispered into the wind and swallowed by the night.

Every triumph was a coin tossed into a river,

every love a paper boat that sank before the first ripple.

I have counted the miles of roads that led nowhere,

the years that slipped through my fingers like sand in a storm.

The world has taken its toll

the lullabies of my childhood, the promises of tomorrow,

the scent of rain on a summer’s field, the taste of a first kiss.

All have drifted beyond the horizon, leaving only the hush of absence.

And now—

the weight of the unfinished verses settles heavy on my chest,

the ink has run dry, the candle guttered low.

I stand at the edge of a page that refuses more lines,

the pen lifted, the ink exhausted, the hand still.

I am done.

Not in surrender, but in acceptance

the ledger is closed, the balance settled.

The shadows that once chased me are now the quiet walls of my own making.

I will not chase the ghosts of what I have lost, for they have taught me how to breathe without them.

So let the silence speak, let the night hold its own counsel.

I will sit, unburdened, beneath the waning moon,

watching the stars flicker out one by one

and in that darkness, finally, find the peace of a story that has reached its end.

When the Ledger Is Closed.