The Sparsity of Sand

Tristan Robert Lange

Left to haunt while others are present
Only the cats recognize that I’m here.
Necrotic hopes buried in Aphrodite’s tomb,
Even song birds mute into misery.
Leaden, my chest’s chambered millstone sinks.
I never imagined my zone to forever twilight.
Never free, my bosom’s a perpetual prison.
Erasure emanates for eternity.
Sleepless are nights of a nighing soul
Scraping for sand granules of love reciprocated.
 
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved. 
Originally published on tristanrobertlange.com, September 6, 2025.
 
Tittu
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Comments +

Comments7

  • sorenbarrett

    "Chest's chambered millstone sinks" What a great line with such metaphoric implication. Never thought of the heart as a millstone but it fits so well for many with a heavy heart especially when cast upon a sea of guilt. Most lovely tor that line alone a fave

    • Tristan Robert Lange

      Yesss! Glad that line delivered. I spent some time considering it. Thank you, Soren for your time, analysis and fave. Always appreciated, my friend! πŸˆβ€β¬›πŸŒ‘β³πŸ™

      • sorenbarrett

        You are most welcome

      • orchidee

        Ain't any sparsity with Popeye. No sparsity of what? Don't answer that! lol.

      • Teddy.15

        Everyone always says I have cats eyes, and maybe that's how come I see you so well. A wonderful poem. 🌹

        • Tristan Robert Lange

          Awww! Thank you Teddy, and I am thankful for those cat's eyes of yours. It's good to be seen and I am truly glad the poem delivered, my dear friend. πŸ’œπŸ™πŸ•―οΈπŸ¦β€β¬›

        • Neville


          You rock Tristan .. this is amazing poetry .. write on .. Neville

          • Tristan Robert Lange

            Why thank you, Neville! I only aspire to rock as much as you, my friend! Sending the love right back atcha! πŸ–€πŸ™πŸ•―οΈπŸ¦β€β¬›

          • arqios

            I hear the stillness between your lines,
            where even the wind forgets its name.
            The cats keep their counsel,
            eyes like coins from a currency no longer minted.
            Somewhere, the goddess sleeps under stone,
            and the sea has swallowed its own song.
            You sift the dark for a single grain,
            and the night, patient as a tide,
            waits for your hands to open.

            • Tristan Robert Lange

              Arqios, this is stunning. You didn’t just read...you entered the silence with me. The way you set cats as keepers of counsel, the goddess under stone, the sea swallowing song...your own beautiful poem, flowing alongside mine. I’m love it, my friend. πŸŒΉπŸ–€πŸ™πŸ•―οΈπŸ¦β€β¬›

            • rebellion_in_sanity

              Genuine question- how do you write things like "Necrotic hopes buried in Aphrodite’s tomb" or "Sleepless are nights of a nighing soul"?
              Another question- except fave, what else can this poem be?

              • Tristan Robert Lange

                My friend, I appreciate the genuine questions. Lines like those tend to arrive unbidden...the muse just taking me where she will, so to speak I am thankful for your appreciating. As for what the poem can be…a mirror, a lament, a haunting. Grateful for your engagement and your fave, always. πŸŒΉπŸ–€πŸ™πŸ•―οΈπŸ¦β€β¬›

              • Tony Grannell

                Dear, Tristan,

                The 'forever twilight' can drive a fellow mad, like purgatory, that awful waiting game, pleading for forgiveness whilst the world abandons you. The only hope in Bastet's eyes, watching you, seeing you and a way to find love. A remarkable poem from a remarkable poet.

                Wishing you all the very best,

                Tony.



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