The pillars stand, though cracked and gray,
A ghost of an imperial day.
The ivy climbs the marble wall,
And watches modern empires fall.
The dust of kings is on the breeze,
That rustles through the olive trees.
A beautiful and tragic sight,
Bathed in the golden, evening light.
Sophia writes with a deeply romantic and historical lens. Surrounded by the beautiful ruins of her city, her poetry often reflects on the passage of time, the endurance of art, and the way love leaves...
We fought over the smallest things, the remote, the final bite, yet stood like soldiers side by side...
A melody of air and light,To charm the heavy, silent night.The notes are clear, the rhythm sweet,Above the...
The chisel strikes the heavy stone,Inside a dusty room, alone.The marble yields to steady hands,Fulfilling silent, deep demands....