Geplaatst op zaterdag 11 oktober 2025
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INFP
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2The Withered Carousel
An old carousel, with paint decayed, still turns where children once had played, Its music lost, its horses bare, now creaks a hymn of mute despair. The gilded lights have long since died, the mirrors cracked, the colors dried, Yet round it spins through ghostly years, a wheel of laughter drowned in tears. For life, too, circles, bright then torn, with joy that fades, with sorrow worn, And we, like echoes, rise and fall, mere shadows on its endless call.
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