The heights have turned their hollow gaze away,
No judgment falls, no celestial sway.
The self, a lone and fractured, judging eye,
Where heaven's echoes fade, and demons lie.
Hell's vacant throne, a chilling, empty space,
The devils walk, with every human face.
The burning truth, a heaven's fiery tear,
More real than dawn, or whispered, pious fear.
This broken world, adrift, without a guide,
A silent spiral, where destinies collide.
No watchful star, no guiding, gentle hand,
Just ruin's march, across a barren land.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 1:45 PM UTC
The heights have turned their hollow gaze away,
No judgment falls, no celestial sway.
The self, a lone and fractured, judging eye,
Where heaven's echoes fade, and demons lie.
Hell's vacant throne, a chilling, empty space,
The devils walk, with every human face.
The burning truth, a heaven's fiery tear,
More real than dawn, or whispered, pious fear.
This broken world, adrift, without a guide,
A silent spiral, where destinies collide.
No watchful star, no guiding, gentle hand,
Just ruin's march, across a barren land.
That's a poem I made from my old note I wrote. A view for seeing world. But it's just a single perspective