At bottom of ocean,
amidst silence,
a heart beats,
inside dead-man's wooden chest.
Perhaps in wooden chests,
we lock our hearts,
saving from splinters of
unrealised dreams.
Yet, flickering hope for human touch;
traces etched in their passings,
define who we are.
But wishes,
smell of incense in temples-
perhaps, even that of first one..
still lingers.
In the cynical sunlight,
in the false hopes of darkness—
only perhaps,
if we permit,
one uncynical breath
that doesn't question....
Permit ourselves to see
white cranes fly—
unlock dead-man's chest-
let our hearts be.
-
Author:
Rebellion In Sanity (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 18th, 2025 08:42
- Comment from author about the poem: One un-cynical breath... perhaps that's all it would take, for us to bloom....is it worth the risk? Not sure, I know
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
Cynicism a cutting knife that can leave wounds and scars. A most questioning poem
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Cynicism a leathal weapon, that causes untold and sometimes unrepairable damage, maybe a kind word to the heart might heal, but not always, nicely expressed and written
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The main body of your poem conjures up so very many images & these titillate and elsewise play with this readers senses .. You ask a very interesting question within your authors footnote .. I'm not sure I know either .. I guess it depends on the situation at any given time .. Neville
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Wow! Brilliant, my friend. That image of white cranes flying…that’s the one that lingers for me. It’s a release after all the heaviness, like air filling lungs again. A striking close to a striking poem, my friend. A fave. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Deeply appreciate your encouraging words and support. Thank you very much 🙏
You are most welcome, my friend!
Superb
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