Shadow of the Candle

I am dying in the wilderness

of my own heart, far from the oasis,

far from believing in your dreams.

I go out, though the scarlet shadow

of the candle still lingers,

though someone has made your name

out of emerald stars.

The Sun's fist, aimed directly

at the thorny moonlight,

slowly blooms in the most beautiful future.

Get up, lift your heart up before

the pain becomes a sweet caress

against the flesh.

Frost caresses our cheeks,

the blunt knife falls out of the lonely hand.

Apart from hope,

I was left with faith in destiny

and the defeated time.

The grain of my heart hurts

everyone's tongues.

A memory found in the attic

will forever remain a prophetic dream

worth being ashamed of.

I bring you a basket

full of freshly picked stars.

I bring you silence

so that everyone hears your scream.

There is no shadow, no hope

for a new paradise.

Are you leaving?

Are you taking my imaginary world

with you again?

Do not lie when providence sings

this deaf-mute ballad.

Beautiful liar, stay for a moment

in the world of my wronged tears.

Show me your life one last time

before my heart wound fades.

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

"... A basket full of freshly picked stars..." What an amazing image! You do have a gift for words. Beautifully written.

[Gideon X. A. Elson]

Love truly can wound, and words alone do it justice not. But not this time, not this time. This time the words capture the pain. Bravo 👏