Desolate

Desolate... The wind howls through hollow trees, empty echoes in barren land, where time forgets to leave its hand. Desolate... Footsteps fade on dust-strewn ground, no voices call, no whispers sound, only silence, vast and unbound. Desolate... The sky weeps with ashen tears, stars extinguished, lost to night, a world consumed, devoid of light. Desolate... Shadows stretch where none remain, forgotten names on crumbled stone, and you walk this path alone.

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Justin Bordner

Date: 5/28/2025 5:50:00 PM

All that's left to love is imagination invoking the life of All in One, for in every shape and step the soul of poetry pronounces the pulse of all that has been, is and can be...The mood of this poem has sharp, clear temperature of meaning Alesia. "Where Time forgets to leave it's hand..." a unique touch indeed...J.A.B.

Garrett Bass

Date: 3/1/2025 5:43:00 PM

Bravo!!