🌕 The Lantern Between Worlds

I woke beneath a sky I did not know,

The stars whispered names that were not mine.

My hands, pale and trembling,

Found a single lantern—still warm, still shining.

It flickered like memory,

a pulse from the life I left behind.

I saw faces in its glow—

my mother’s smile, a friend’s farewell,

echoes drifting through the veil between worlds.

The wind here carries no scent of home,

only the dust of forgotten gods.

And yet, this fragile light—

it hums softly, as if it remembers me.

I walk through ruins of time,

guided not by reason, but by radiance.

Each step I take, the lantern sways,

painting gold across the ashes.

They say souls lose their way in rebirth,

but perhaps that’s not true.

Perhaps the lantern is memory itself—

the last promise of who we were,

leading us toward who we must become.

So I follow it,

through shadow and silence,

through centuries folded upon themselves—

a wanderer, reborn,

chasing one trembling light

that still dares to believe in dawn.