The silent confession (Marcella Boccia)

I carved my truth in sleepless air,
where lips would never dare to speak,
a shadowed vow, too faint to bear,
a whisper lost, a promise weak.The candle trembled in the gloom,
its flicker traced what I conceal,
a name unbreathed, a ghost in bloom,
a wound too deep for time to heal.No priest, no saint, no earthly hand
could pull the secret from my chest—
it lingers, quiet, like the sand
that knows the tide but holds the rest.