A malady — or perhaps a curse —
That swells within — a quiet verse,
Her eyes, aglow — with secret fire,
As if the world had spun entire
Around that spark — a fleeting grace,
A trace of Heaven — on her face.
The glow, not born of earthly light,
But something deep — a quiet fight
Between the realms of flesh and air,
Where mortals falter, yet she dares
To lift the veil — and there, behold —
A sacred tale, both fierce and old.
It shimmers like a whispered prayer,
A song that's sung — but never there.
A verse, a rhythm, soft and true,
But none can read the words that grew
From that deep well, where time does slip,
And souls are bound in ancient script.
A curse, or blessing — who can say?
Her gaze, the dawn, the dying day,
An endless riddle wrapped in light —
A burden and a dazzling sight.
To touch it would consume the soul,
Yet in its grasp, we are made whole.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 11:48 PM UTC
A malady — or perhaps a curse —
That swells within — a quiet verse,
Her eyes, aglow — with secret fire,
As if the world had spun entire
Around that spark — a fleeting grace,
A trace of Heaven — on her face.
The glow, not born of earthly light,
But something deep — a quiet fight
Between the realms of flesh and air,
Where mortals falter, yet she dares
To lift the veil — and there, behold —
A sacred tale, both fierce and old.
It shimmers like a whispered prayer,
A song that's sung — but never there.
A verse, a rhythm, soft and true,
But none can read the words that grew
From that deep well, where time does slip,
And souls are bound in ancient script.
A curse, or blessing — who can say?
Her gaze, the dawn, the dying day,
An endless riddle wrapped in light —
A burden and a dazzling sight.
To touch it would consume the soul,
Yet in its grasp, we are made whole.
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