Beneath the light of a candle
I hid all my sorrows
My crying out loud was the epitome of my shadows
Lying on the wooden soil of my dark chamber
I could listen to the delightful sound of raindrops
My heart had been broken in myriad moments
And I could see it hovering in the sky
Painting the wallpaper with crimson hues
The scent of dragon’s blood incense enveloped me in a thick cloud
I could allow myself to follow my foolish illusions
They have always kept me on the verge of madness
A relentless turmoil would have emptied me endlessly
Fragmenting my soul and transforming it into stardust
I had fallen victim to my own tragedy
Even though I have eluded the burden of grief
All the most beautiful blossoms of my garden had withered
Flowered meadows transformed into a hollow valley of tears and withered rose petals
I had lost all my dearest treasures and a spell was cast over my erratic fate
Crimson and dark shadows were confining me in my infernal dwelling
Haunted by dark memories and vicious obsessions
Where I couldn’t find a sparkle of love and hope
I might have been allowed to see my relentless crypt
There she stood so magnificent and exquisite
A monument to my witlessness and folly
Beneath the light of a candle
I had vanished anonymously
Only glooms and clouds were grieving for me
Under a sky made of glass and pearls
At nightfall
When chimaeras and ghouls gathered
As soon as the moon summoned them
Therefore I had become a creature of the otherworld
A realm of perpetual twilight and wilted leaves
Where wisdom had forever been obliterated
And silence sealed the portal to mortal sight.
Elisabetta Esther
Tag: poetic solitude
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Beneath The Light Of A Candle
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Mournful Shadows
In the stillness of the night, the sky was stormy and overcrowded with lightning and thunder. Rain was pouring down, and the wind was impetuous.
The exquisite scent of rainwater perfumed my small chamber from which I glimpsed the dark and stormy landscape.
Chaos and order alternated in my bleak soul, full of grief. A piercing funereal pain had gripped my entire essence.
Intrusive thoughts and faded hopes crowded my mind as if they were unwelcome intruders, not invited by me.
Joy and darkness unfolded like buds in my soul, becoming thorny briars that wounded my heart and tore apart my being.
The bright sun, dethroned in the sky by great threatening and dark clouds in a midsummer storm, was no longer on my visual horizon, making me reflect on my bleak and mortal fate, which condemned me to a sense of perpetual anguish.
It was as if I had lost the ability to express all that I felt in my heart, the most hidden secrets and concealed truths that I had never been able to reveal to any mortal.
My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.
My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.
Mournful shadows ruled over me.
They were the ones who decided my path and my fate.
They were invisible, yet present—and immensely powerful.
I felt like a doll, a puppet, at the mercy of their whimsical desires and decisions.And so I perished,
by the hand of my own fears,
by the hand of my own funeral anguish,
And I became a mournful shadow myself,
No different from the others.
Elisabetta