Silver

Silver slips into the room like moonlight,
quiet but impossible to ignore.
Not loud as gold, not heavy as iron — 
it listens before it shines.

It lives in the pause between heartbeats,
in the edge of dawn where night hasn’t let go.
A mirror that remembers every face
but keeps its own secrets.

Silver is the sound of winter breathing,
the hush on a frozen lake,
a promise sharpened into a blade
or softened into a ring.

It ages with grace,
learning beauty from every scratch,
holding time the way water holds stars — 
never owning them,
only reflecting what dares to look back.