Clock ticks, yet there's no voices that await;

stillness spreads,

shaking my tread to death.

For I was once,

and would always remain that way.

A room where names once echoed,

praise like Venus, vowed like Zeus.

Now withered, dismissed—

a thing who never existed,

as if I had never been.

The applause that once carried me

has drifted into the air,

like ash refuses to settle,

like a cluster of light,

no longer remembers its source.

The chairs remain but no one sits,

their warmth long varnished before even sight sets.

I speak like a dustling flower,

I wave my hand,

twist my joint,

act perfectly;

no room for a slacker,

yet no one's there.

Is it still worth to see?

The air does not bend,

my words dissolve before they reach a listening ear.

I hear whispers of my own agony,

quietly grasping for the glow I've been.

There they stood; unwanted,

and shadows began to reappear.

It cuts through my gut.

The smiles are the same;

they will make you fold,

fool to stay still.

But I'm no longer the flame they tamed,

I'm no longer the captured,

I no longer shine the same.

My name stops ringing the headlines,

I'm no longer the subject of the spotlight.

The crowd has moved,

their eyes grazing new constellations,

while I remain;

masking the memory of the forgotten, haunted—the star that dimmed.

A tapestry inscribed,

Not long from my mourning soul,

through the whispers,

fell a heavy quiet,

that silent dimming can be louder than a subjective love.

And then I learned what rivers teach:

People flow, they shift, they breach.

It was not cruelty nor disdain,

rather a nature's rhythm, loss or gain.

I was once, and that was grace,

a fleeting warmth, a brief embrace.

Enough t

o ache, but not to curse,

For I was, and never is—my silent verse.

The Frontman