***

Upon the shore where lake and sky converge,
A woman stands, her silhouette a thread
Within the tapestry of fading light.
The sunset spills its amber, rose, and gold,
A fleeting hymn that trembles on the waves,
And she, enraptured, gazes at its glow,
Her heart a mirror to the dying day.

The water laps in whispers at her feet,
Each ripple bearing secrets of the deep—
Of life, that restless tide that ebbs and flows,
And death, the shadow waiting in its wake.
She ponders how the light must yield to dark,
How every dawn begets its own descent,
And yet the cycle spins, unyielding, vast,
A wheel of moments, neither cruel nor kind.

What is this life, she muses, but a breath?
A spark that flares, then fades into the night?
The sun, resplendent, sinks beneath the edge,
Its fire a fleeting guest within the world.
So too, her days, like embers, glow and cool,
Each one a fragile gift, both joy and weight.
She wonders if the meaning lies in this:
To burn, to love, to ache, and then to pass.

The light and shadow dance upon the lake,
Two halves of one eternal, wordless truth.
The sun’s caress is gentle, warm with hope,
Yet dusk’s embrace is certain, cold, and still.
She sees in them the heart’s own warring tides—
Love, with its radiant, all-consuming call,
And hate, the jagged scar that lingers long,
Each shaping her, as wind shapes ancient stone.

Love, she recalls, has lifted her to heights
Where souls take flight and time forgets its march.
It bound her to the world, to hands and eyes,
To laughter shared beneath a boundless sky.
But hate, that bitter root, has carved its mark,
Its thorns a goad to guard her tender core.
And yet, she sees, both love and hate are threads
Within the cloth of what it means to be.

The lake reflects the sky’s last fleeting blush,
A canvas where the infinite resides.
She stands, a pilgrim at the edge of thought,
And feels the weight of questions unresolved.
Is life the light that dances on the wave?
Or death the depth where all such dances cease?
No answer comes, yet in the silence sings
A truth: to stand, to see, to feel, is all.

The sun is gone, the stars begin to gleam,
Their silver voices whispering of peace.
She turns, her shadow trailing on the shore,
And carries with her both the light and dark,
The love, the hate, the questions without end.
The lake, eternal, holds its quiet watch,
As she, a fleeting soul, walks on alone.