In the quiet corners of my cobwebbed mind,
Lies the ghost of me, once brightly defined.
I roamed the realms of naiveté,
Where laughter bubbled, unchecked and free.
The world then, a canvas so pure and white,
I danced in colors of innocent light.
But shadows crept in, with the tides of time,
And pain etched scars in rhythm and rhyme.
Each hurt a brushstroke, dark and deep,
That painted my soul in shadows steep.
Gone the brightness, where once dreams thrived,
Replaced by a version, barely alive.
Who is this reflection in the mirror’s gaze?
Haunted eyes, lost in a smoky haze.
The innocence that once set me apart,
Now a whispered legend in my hollow heart.
Yet, through the ache, a new strength is born,
A resilience forged, rough and worn.
From the ashes of my crumbled past,
Emerges a spirit, fire-cast.
No longer the child in fields of green,
But a warrior shaped by sights unseen.
In the forge of pain, my identity bends,
Transformed by loss, the journey never ends.
I mourn the me that used to be,
But embrace the soul that pain set free.
For every tear that falls like rain,
Carves the contours of a deeper terrain.
So here I stand, altered yet whole,
A mosaic of battles, etched into my soul.
Though innocence lost is a poignant thing,
It’s the rebirth of self that suffering brings.
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