There are no more saviors, only shadows dancing in the mist,
The rivers of memory no longer flow gently, but disappear into the abyss.
Myths that soothed the mundane have faded, leaving only silence,
Only waiting remains, an echo that never ends.
The voice repeats like a refrain of lost time,
The short breath hides between two silences.
The world does not end with divine revelations or dreams,
But with stumbling steps, absurd replies, and wanderings.
In this vast void, a new, fragile ethic is born,
To endure the empty time, to laugh in the face of cold ruins.
To speak even when words are lost in echoes,
To move forward, even if every step brings you down.
“Try again, fail again, but fail better,”
Is the minimum dignity in a world of shadows and dreams.
The only heroism left to us in the face of nothingness,
Is to rise from our falls, to reinvent ourselves from the ashes.
Written: September 09, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
*********
Memory drifts in silver threads
Invisible truths the morning sheds
Shadow and shimmer softly blend
Time forgets what dreams intend
Through the veil of mist, stars weave stories in whispers of silver,
Illuminating the path of shadows dancing on the edge of the dream.
Rivers of time flow through valleys of memories forgotten by the world,
Where each moment weeps its tale in echoes of longing.
Trees stretch their arms toward the sky full of enigmas,
In their foliage, the wind sings ballads of lost hearts.
The moon, queen of the night, spreads her veil over our dreams,
While silence dresses the earth in its cloak of mystery.
Beneath the sleeping earth, roots seek sources of truth,
While the flowers of dreams open in the light of the cold moon.
Each star is a hidden wish, an unspoken secret,
In the dark universe where light dances with shadow.
Dawn brings with it a new beginning, but also the end of a dream,
For each morning, the magic of the night is reborn from the ashes.
In our hearts, love weaves its eternal stories,
While time whispers answers from forgotten corners.
LULLABY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
lulled by languid lullabies
leaves lay light, lost in dreams
morning mist mingles muted
whispers of warmth woven in web of the soul
She loved her child through rivers and mountains,
copied sutras with trembling hands,
offered them at dawn, noon, dusk, and night—
each tear a stream flowing in silence.
She loved her child across endless miles,
chanting through tears like mountain rain.
The wind carried her voice to distant woods,
cold rain soaking into her soul.
Then Mother became mist, fading in midday sun.
Then Mother became fragrance, drifting through dreams.
Then Mother became cloud, white hair at heaven’s edge.
Then Mother became sunlight, a shadow behind the hill.
At midnight, I turn in a distant town,
reading the last line of her sutra.
Her words overflow with longing—
transcribing the Buddha’s teaching across the river.
O love! A forest of white hair
flies back to cover birth and death.
A bird cries from the farthest sky—
I lift my head, and hear the sound of the Unborn.
--- By Nguyen Giac Phan Tan Hai
a bouquet of white blossoms
touched by a tinge of pink
blushing at the thought
of your smile in the distance
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on July 25, 2025 for contest 1398 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 10TH
7 lines /7syllables
______________
she was touched by a phantom
becoming a phantom too
both boarded coral carriage
wheels grate cobble streets in mist
opera seats were waiting
then to swirl on dancing floor
she relished escaping hours
In summer's heat, where vibrant blossoms sway,
A storm awakens, darkened clouds align,
The thunder whispers secrets of the day,
While lightning's flash reveals the past's design.
Beneath the tempest's wrath, my heart takes flight,
To memories concealed in shadow's veil,
Each droplet falls, a tear of lost delight,
As winds recall the tales of love's travail.
These fleeting moments dance on raindrop's breath,
With every gust, the echoes rise amiss,
A torrent born from joy, now tangled with death,
In summer storms, I find what I can't miss.
Yet in the chaos, beauty's grace remains,
In every storm, the heart both breaks and gains.
In a forgotten corner of the world, where silences stretch like a carpet of mist,
My thoughts wander among the ruins of lives scattered by the wind,
Reminding me that wisdom and madness dance hand in hand,
Like two shadows merging under the pale light of an eternal sunset.
In the silence of an endless night, I contemplate the broken destinies,
A silent song of those who fell prey to their inner storms,
For only when ruin touches our own being do we truly understand,
For only then do we see clearly that the lost ones are our unknown brothers.
In the shadow of an existence unraveling like an old canvas,
I realize that the drunkards, the mad, the prisoners, and the dreamers are part of us,
People who wear invisible scars like medals of destiny,
They are as commonplace as a rainbow arching after a storm.
Memories intertwine like threads of silk in the wind of time,
And I understand that every ruined life is a story worth hearing,
For in their fragility, we find the reflection of our own searches,
And in the fragility of a shattered dream, we find the strength to be reborn.
oh, the mist on mountains
rising to meet the clouds
swirling like ocean waves
land shrouded in a veil . ..
secrets of plumes misty
that the morn' will reveal
Leaves descend on whispered breath,
Like letters lost, unsent, unread,
The earth exhales a chilled caress,
Where fading days in silence tread.
October threads its smoky skein,
Weaving tales in dusk's embrace,
Each word a leaf, a fleeting stain,
Drifting slow through time and space.
Cold winds hum in hollow halls,
Where promises dissolve to mist,
The twilight's pulse in shadows falls,
A hollow song the dusk has kissed.
Yet dawn replies with softened voice,
A cardinal's sharp cry unfolds,
It speaks of loss, it speaks of choice,
Of whispered love the season holds.
One amber morn, the trees converse,
Their leaves like whispers, bold and free,
Not just decay, but verse and verse—
When autumn speaks, it speaks to me.
my crescent moon whispers softly
as dusk fades to dawn
and a soft mist settles
the morning rolling in
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 26, 2025 for contest 1393 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - Honorable Mention
Halos In The Mist
Golden rings of dim lights.
Soon to fade after dawn from night.
Cobblestones staggered down a crooked path astray.
Halos in the mist acknowledge a mystery.
Haunted places with roaming ghosts.
Halos to lemon quartz allures.
Fluent lights circles.
Take a stroll in the abandoned dark.
Just pondering past vivid shadows.
With loneliness all around.
Do you ever look up and wonder?
Maybe halos guide us in the dark.
A hush falls soft on waking land,
Where silver threads through silence stand,
The trees half-dream in veils of white,
Bathed in the breath of fading night.
The sun, a whisper on the hill,
Spills golden ink, yet all is still.
The world in pause, a sacred hush—
The mist moves slow, the day won't rush.
Each blade of grass wears nature's lace,
Each droplet holds the sky’s embrace.
The crows call low, their wings outspread,
Through morning's gauze, both seen and led.
The earth exhales its ghostly sigh,
And writes a verse across the sky.
In that brief spell, all time seems kissed—
By silence, light, and morning mist.
Misty roses, red
with pink haze, orange lilies;
Lilac promenade.
Purple pansies on the porch,
dusk soon to carry the torch.
'At last' roses, peach
chocolate cosmos, shrouded,
Yellow daisies smile.
Gardens loved to distraction,
yet hold a strong attraction.
Blue irises, blurred
and black cherry carnations,
near green hydrangeas.
Subdued belles wear nature's veil
in hued dawn, of small detail.
Related Poems