Apollo’s call:
A crackle of light, a new life is formed, a child sent down to earth. Sent with his gift that falls upon your fiery eye.
His child, himself in human form, like looking in eyes so familiar reality starts to warp itself. I send a letter with you, my life, my love.
Ink to change the narrative, won’t break the truth. Grow good and old, to not watch the world ultimately collapse upon itself. Man Made natural disasters.
Apollos call.
I see your face in my own, see your writing on the wall. A call out to cradle this unborn babe grown to know none the truth.
Same light pulsates, ebbs into the void. Left unchanged like everything gone and forgotten. Cry of the saints, the iron giant has fallen and man is free.
But apollos call still rings, haunting.
What could’ve been lays shattered,
What was bleeds an unknown bitterness,
And what will be doesn’t look so illuminating.
Apollos call,
a history not written in the books.
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Author:
Georgia Watson (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2025 13:26
- Category: Religion
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments2
This poem evokes feelings of a love lost and broken that speaks of what could have been. This is echoed in the last line a history not written. Well done.
Thank you x
You are most welcome
Beautifully crafted, Georgia. You’ve captured the weight of myth and memory colliding with our present…prophecy and lament braided together. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you x
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