In the forsaken fantasy of time
There were so many sighs of generations,
The whirlpool of oppressive reservations,
With every ghost invested with the mind…
Rotated by the rain of falling leaves,
I aptly think of ephemeral falseness
Of yesterday, so strange, among its transience,
Only just pulling back the pain by eaves…
No sooner than the light sheds the new day,
Unquenchable, a sign of comprehension,
Spiritual content of transformation -
Confessed. Old dolor spell, just clear the way.
And then the soul realm will be straightaway,
When I can hardly fight line fluctuation,
Immaculate reflections in abstraction
Where harmony of peaks will be conveyed…
-
Author:
cellinic (
Offline) - Published: January 24th, 2026 21:35
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
This reflective poem shows strong religious influence of a neo Christian nature nicely done
My friend, I get this. The tension between pain remembered and harmony hoped for feels very real. It resonates as a quiet act of persistence. Very well done! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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