As the sun touches the frozen peaks,
A whisper of light breaks through the bleak,
Golden hues paint a promise wide,
In the silence that knows no side.
Cold grips every tip of ice,
Yet fire lies behind lines precise,
The sky ignites in amber and blue,
As if time itself never grew.
The water ripples, reflecting the sky,
Like my soul caught in a silent cry,
Calm yet fragile, still yet stormed,
Holding feelings, unspoken, unformed.
Mountains draped in shrouds of white,
Hide the secrets of quiet might,
They stand as witnesses, ever so grand,
That beauty lives in the silent land.
Here, in a place without sound,
I ask the twilight where colors are found,
Is there meaning in this frozen hue?
Or is it a waiting that no one knew?
As the sun slowly descends in grace,
I watch the beauty etched with trace,
Like my heart, seeking a name,
In solitude, I find the flame.