Getting dissolved in tender autumn coloring
And feeling now the breathing of the dream.
Behind the crossroads - many years of wondering
Where sainthood revelation lines are stream…
And opening religion, love and path of light
In the profoundness of my breath, there, far,
I see the world as headspring for the setting up.
Do not deny heartsinking once, so far.
And only when the dumpy boredom passes by,
The soul will fill with beats of my hearbeat,
I will acknowledge everything that words apply
Where everlasting sense at the lead.
November 24-25, 2022
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Author:
cellinic (
Offline) - Published: January 18th, 2026 08:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
There is a rapid rush in this poem that like water in a high pressure hose moves too fast to catch the ripples and bubbles it stings with its pressure. Hard hitting
many thanks, dear Soren Barrett
You are very welcome
cellinic, this poem moves like a quiet pilgrimage. Breath, season, belief, and boredom all weave together until meaning arrives gently rather than announced. It’s reflective, patient, and grounded in feeling. A thoughtful and resonant piece. A fave, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
many thanks for such invigorating comment, my dear friend!
You are most welcome!
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