There’s a misty, moss-covered place
in the mountain where I go at dusk,
where a single lantern glows continuously
behind a veil of cendal.
And everything—sound, thought, pain—
softens into a whisper
and solace in a gentle, healing dim,
a sacred light that holds me without asking.
Quiet, unearned,
in a kind of reverent embrace,
and gathers into a single act of grace
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Author:
rrodriguez (
Offline) - Published: October 7th, 2026 18:41
- Comment from author about the poem: Lately, I have been playing with random words. At first, it was simply a kind of exercise. I would give a word, receive another, and allow them to sit together without knowing where they might lead me. But something unexpected began to happen. The words started opening doors. Words like moss, bruma, lantern, cendal, whisper, solace, ember, and grace began to gather around me, and before I knew it, I was writing poems that felt different from the poems I normally write. I have always been drawn to nature—to mountains, rivers, trees, birds, flowers, the sea, and the landscapes of Puerto Rico. I write about animals. I write about love, memory, family, and the things I see around me. Much of my poetry begins with something visible. But these random words have been leading me somewhere else. They have been taking me inward.
- Category: Unclassified
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