Silence Among the Nails

Among the nails of the forgotten guitar
the wood holds back the final breath.
The dust weaves threads of silence
and time slackens the cords, now muted.
Silence possesses a voice without sound
pronouncing the name of those who do not return.
It does not call, but remains, steady and clear,
among cold metals and a memory that won’t shatter.
Thus the guitar becomes a promise that falls quiet,
a voiceless song embracing the absence.
And as it deepens, silence bears the names
of those who never return, sung by the void.