In Vain

The days blur into one long ache,
Soft edges worn thin
By the weight of repetition.
Eat, sleep, work —
Repeat.
And for what?

Hope lingers in the hollow spaces,
A faint pulse beneath my ribs,
A whisper of something
I can’t name.
It presses into me,
Heavy as stone,
Fragile as smoke.

I search for meaning
In the rustle of leaves,
In the last light bleeding through the trees,
In the quiet ache of the night.

….