Pain is a separate soul—
the soul of an abandoned world.
He approaches from land burned with fire
forming log ghosts. His watchful steps inflame
Anger—hasty and raw.
A gust of wind disperses smould’ring remains.
Amid them, grief sleeps in the ashes,
cradled in mournful blackness.
I lost my paradise—remember me
when you come into your kingdom.
Sad rain looks at the horizon that draws
its apparent curve.
Early sun ignites the blaze of revenge
and grows across the holy reach of sky.
A single tear falls, spent among countless
grains of sand where the Dead Sea spits out
leaden substance, too bitter and dry.
Over this asphalt drowsiness, death hangs.
A wan smile lifts from her cadaverous mouth
like incense smoke, earthy in its scent.
Ouroboros bites its tail; opposites collide.
The first day dies. The last assumes its throne.
A white snake rings the iris of Sigurd’s eye.
You stand, Alice, overshadowed.
The universe thins into the average.
Your thoughts, once born in fictional heavens,
complete their passage to the unmade.
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Author:
Isabel Szurlej (
Offline) - Published: June 11th, 2026 20:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
This poem deserves a fave and I had to hit the button ten times before it would register. Nicely worded and imaged this poem sends its message in mythical figures and as is the case with myths they carry archetypal messages buried deep in the human psyche. It is full of meaning to those that will listen. Very nicely done
Thank you so much — this is a beautiful reading. I’m really glad the mythical figures and deeper layers came through.
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