A veil between worlds (Marcella Boccia)

There is a place where silence sways,
where echoes bloom and fade too soon,
where mist unweaves the threaded days
beneath a frail and hollow moon.I stand between, I breathe the dust,
one foot in light, one lost in shade,
a name dissolved, a vow in rust,
a step too close and I will fade.The air is thin, the ground unsure,
a whisper drifts—too soft to hold,
a touch, a glimpse, and nothing more,
a veil between the dark and gold.

The whisper in the wind (Marcella Boccia)

The wind calls out in hollow sighs,
a voice too old for time to name,
it weeps beneath the ashen skies,
yet none can hear, yet none can claim.It knows the steps I leave behind,
it tastes the salt upon my skin,
it speaks of things I cannot find,
of doors unopened, locked within.At dusk it hums against my ear,
a ghostly touch, so soft, so thin—
a name I’ve long refused to hear,
a secret carved into the wind.

My little secret (Marcella Boccia)

There is a word I dare not speak,
a ghost between my ribs at night,
a thread of ink, too frail, too bleak,
that ties my soul in knots too tight.
It hums beneath my quiet breath,
a feather lost in winds unknown,
a vow that lingers after death,
a seed in darkness overgrown.
I traced it once on frosted glass,
the letters bled, the meaning blurred,
the moment broke, it came to pass—
a secret swallowed by a word.
And so I keep it locked inside,
between my pulse, beneath my skin,
a shadow I could never hide,
yet never let the world look in.