I walked where shadows keep their place,
Through silent rows and empty space.
The dead don’t judge, they never lie,
They keep my secrets when I pass by.
No cruel remarks, no cutting stares,
Just endless quiet that doesn’t care.
The dead always listen, they never betray,
They hold your sins and look away.
No whispers back, no voices raised,
Just hollow ground and unmarked graves.
I speak my mind beneath the trees,
Confessions carried on the autumn breeze.
They don’t reply, they don’t condemn,
The dead are the only ones I trust again.
Their silence soothes, their patience stays,
While the living just scream their selfish praise.
Next time I’ll bring a flower or two,
To honor the quiet I’m talking to.
But for now, I’ll stay and speak my shame,
The dead don’t care—they’ve got no blame.
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