Echoes of a Fading Light
A locked garden where blooms once swayed,
Now thorns guard the door to delight.
The sun’s warm touch, a memory played,
Fades—pale as the stars that do not shine at night.
The taste of laughter, a ghost on my tongue,
Where joy once dripped sweet, now stagnant rain.
Mountains of mirth, reduced to a flat, gray song,
Each note a hollow where color should remain.
I plant seeds of hope in the cracks of the floor,
Yet roots find no water, no reason to grow.
Applause echoes, but it never reaches my core—
A silent film, its soundtrack long since gone.
You speak of fire, of dances, of golden wine,
But my hands clutch only the chill of the air.
Your symphony sounds like a language I’m blind to—
A world painted vibrant, but I have no there.
It is winter here; I’ve lost the name of spring.
The heart, a clockwork wound, ticks nothing instead of song.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: January 18th, 2026 17:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Friendship, I connect deeply with this landscape you’ve drawn. That feeling of being surrounded by color others can still see, while you stand somewhere muted and cold, feels painfully familiar. Thank you for this, my friend. Well done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you, Tristan. I appreciate your understanding of my written message. As an artist residing in Florida, I'm delighted you're aware of my writing. However, I'm currently facing challenges due to the unusual cold weather, which is hindering my creative process. Temperatures have dropped significantly, fluctuating between 84 and 56 degrees within a short span. Consequently, my artistic productivity has come to a standstill, and my life is on hold.
Oh no! I have family in Florida, so I know the weather you speak of. Sorry to hear that. The cold does me no good, either. And SAD, of course. Anyway, hope the weather can get back on track soon for you, my friend!
This poem carries a dark feeling of sadness and lack of hope. It sees a world that is infertile and painful leaving a sad feeling. Nicely crafted it casts a shadow without promise of a new sunrise. Well done
I appreciate your comment, stopping by, and reading my poem, Soren
May it warm soon for you
Good write F.
Thank you
Tried the garden today, it was calling for help.
Managed an hour before I gave up.
Life in winter is definitely for hibernating.
Thank you so much for taking the time to appreciate my poem, Paul. We're experiencing an extraordinary cold snap where I live, which is a rare occurrence for this time of year. Normally, our mild climate is a constant source of inspiration, but even in the face of unexpected chills, my creativity perseveres. I call Florida on the East Coast my home. Today was a dramatic example - the temperature plummeted from 84° to 36° in just an hour, and it stayed that low last night. Despite the challenges of creating art in these extreme weather conditions, I remain undeterred, knowing that true artistry can thrive in any climate. I wish someone would explain it to my paintings and other things I'm creating.
That sure is one drop in temperature, we're sort of coming out the ice age here.
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