In the quiet corners of her mind,
Sylvia wandered through shadows vast,
A solitude that wrapped her kind,
In echoes of a haunting past.

Words danced upon her tongue with ease,
Yet loneliness held her tight,
In verses whispered to the breeze,
She sought solace in the night.

Her pen, a sword against despair,
Carving silence into rhyme,
Yet still, she found no comfort there,
In the endless march of time.

Sylvia, in her hushed retreat,
Traced the stars with weary eyes,
In loneliness, she found her beat,
A melancholy song that never dies.