Florin Lacatus Poet Free verse

Those Who Burn Like the Lights of the Sky

You do not see them, but they are there.
White shadows, walking without rest
on the thin line between life and death,
where bodies break,
but souls remain upright.

They ask for nothing.
No sleep, no food, no time.
They carry their wounds in silence,
like pillars of light
that do not know how to fade.
They burn their hearts on the altar of suffering,
until nothing remains but the ashes
of a life given to others.

They are hands that close eyelids,
that lift weary bodies,
that bring hope where nothing
seems to breathe anymore.
They are eyes that stare into the darkness,
seeing, beyond flesh and bone,
the silent battle of a soul
that refuses to leave.

But who will save them?
Who will heal their unseen wounds?
Who will place a hand on their forehead
when fever takes hold of them?
Who will whisper: Rest now, you have done enough?

There will be no one.
For they burn until the end,
without asking, without crying,
leaving behind nothing
but a forgotten memory
and a light that no longer shines.

And one day,
when their bodies are mere shadows
on the cold beds of their own hospital,
no one will ask who they were,
and the world will move on,
without remembering those
who kept it alive.

But up above,
where only souls still speak,
an invisible fire will remain lit,
a light that never dies,
because those who burn out of love
never truly perish.

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