Setting sun, fading echo.
Grasping hands, failing to let go.
Paining heart, parting ways.
Churning Memories, eternally stays.
Dimming light, fading hope.
Greying skies, failing slope.
Tearing soul, tethering world.
Screaming silence, barely heard.
Vacant eyes, empty stares.
Void days, filling despair.
Breaking soul, lonely being.
Shattering whole, a soundless keeying.
Passing days, waiting sunbreak.
Healing road, waiting to take.
Souling song, soothing grace.
Friendly hugs, knowing face.
Another flight, a reckless fall.
Seeking hands, an enchanting call.
Healing heart, fading scars.
Soaring love, a shooting star.
Hurting memories, to an easing echo.
Raising sun, a breezy meadow.
Making promises, a shaky step.
Pairing heart, slowly crept.
Healing all, healing whole.
Leaning shoulder, a companion soul.
Finally whole, finally healed.
Through a paired heart, eternally sealed.

By: #riya

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@PensivePost #prompt

"Star of Ethiopia"

Out in the Night thou art the sun
Toward which thy soul-charmed children run,
The faith-high height whereon they see
The glory of their Day To Be—
The peace at last when all is done
The night is dark but, one by one,
Thy signals, ever and anon,
Smile beacon answers to their plea,
Out in the Night
Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun;
Give them a hope to rest upon,
A dream to dream eternally,
The strength of men who would be free
And win the battle race begun,
Out in the Night!

@PensivePost by Lucian B. Watkins

The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber'd and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die

@PensivePost by Alfred Lord Tennyson's

Hope

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all
And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

@PensivePost by Emily Dickinson