I (The Ninth Letter of the Alphabet)

The sound of running time burns,
etching the impression of my shadow's presence.
The winds of death blow softly,
scattering fragments of my mind like fallen leaves.

I see nothing but the ashes
of my burnt-out passion, a fire long spent.
The embers flicker, dim and cold,
leaving only the ghost of who I once was.

I feel nothing except the dampness of infinity,
trickling down my cheeks like tears—
a river of sorrow, endless and deep,
carving canyons into the contours of my soul.

I hear not the distant chanting,
the far-off sermon so soft it fades into oblivion.
Voices dissolve like whispers in the fog,
lost in the echoes of a life I can no longer touch.

Yet within this hollow shell,
I lust for life, to live, to love,
to break free from the clutches of haunting shadows.
To feel the pulse of existence beneath my skin,
to taste the sweet agony of being truly alive.

I yearn to reclaim what was stolen—
the fire, the passion, the untamed light.
But all I touch turns to dust,
all I hold crumbles away in my grasp.

What is this existence but a prison of echoes,
a shadowland where memories wane?
I ache to escape, to shatter this void,
to find the warmth that lies beyond despair.

I crave not just the breath of life
but the wild, fevered embrace of love,
a kiss that burns, a touch that scars—
to awaken the parts of me that have long been numb.

For I am the ninth letter, solitary and stark,
a singular figure lost in the dark.
But still, I reach, with trembling hands,
toward a world I cannot see,
toward a hope that may never be.

Let me feel the sun upon my face,
let me hear the laughter in the air,
for I am more than the shadows that bind me,
I am more than the echoes that confine me.

Though time may burn, and shadows may creep,
I am here—desiring, yearning, ready to leap.
To live, to love, to rise once again,
a soul reborn from the ashes of pain.