What Remains (Poesy)

I still carry scars, unseen, unmoving, set deep where silence gathers.

They do not fade with time. They settle. They harden. They remain.

Memory lives there, slow and deliberate, repeating what I no longer speak.

I move as if whole, voice even, hands steady, while something within me stays broken without sound.

Nothing asks to be healed anymore. Nothing reaches outward.

It simply endures, quiet and constant,

a mark of what was survived,

and what never returned.