Upon the cliffs where time stands still,
A lone keeper walks the winding hall,
His lanterns hum with quiet will,
Flickering dreams that refuse to fall.
Some burn steady, bold and bright,
Fed by hands that dared to try,
Others tremble in the night,
Wanin beneath a weary sigh.
Dust has gathered on a few,
Forgotten hope left undisturbed,
Yet even embers hold a hue,
A whisper soft - a light preserved.
The Keeper moves with careful grace,
Tending to the lost and dim,
He know that time cannot erase
The fire waiting deep within.
A spark, a breath, a touch of gold -
A dream rekindled, strong and free.
No flame is every truly cold,
Not while a keeper dares to see!
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Author:
The Inner Lens (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 3rd, 2025 13:06
- Comment from author about the poem: This excerpt comes from a pivotal chapter in my journey—a moment when I was forced to look deep within. What I found was a vast, dust-laden warehouse, overflowing with forgotten dreams, shattered hopes, missed opportunities, and fractured relationships. If I were to heal, I knew I must first confront the mess within, clearing away the remnants of the past. With God’s guidance, I am well on my way.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments2
Brilliantly written with great metaphor and imagery. Lovely
Excellent write
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