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Echoes of Shadows

Echoes of Shadows

Von: MARCELLA BOCCIA
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 In Echoes of Shadows, Marcella Boccia takes readers on a poetic journey through the depths of the human soul, where light and darkness intertwine, and love, loss, hope, and abandonment coexist. Each verse captures fleeting moments, yet reveals the lasting impact of memory and emotion.With delicate melancholy, Boccia explores time, memory, and the quiet strength found in silence. Her poems invite readers to embrace the shadows, discovering beauty in the hidden corners of life. Echoes of Shadows is a reflection on the invisible threads that bind us, a poignant exploration of the emotions that linger long after the words have faded.2025 Kunst
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  • Mountains that hold their breath for you (Marcella Boccia)

    Mountains that hold their breath for you (Marcella Boccia)
    Feb 4 2025
    Mountains that hold their breath for you (Marcella Boccia)

    The mountains stand still in the silence of your name,
    their peaks trembling as they cradle the wind,
    waiting for the moment you will return,
    like the echo of a song that never fades,
    carried in the breath of the earth,
    whispered in the space between stars. They hold their breath for you,
    these ancient sentinels of stone,
    worn by time yet unyielding,
    their shadows stretched long across the valleys,
    as if the very land remembers the footsteps
    that once traced their jagged paths. In their stillness, I feel you,
    the pulse of your heart beating
    in the rhythm of the wind that wraps around me,
    a breath of you in every gust,
    a presence that haunts the peaks
    where we once stood,
    and now, the mountains wait in silence,
    as if they too, long to hear your voice again.
    Oh, love, do you hear them?
    The mountains that hold their breath for you,
    the same mountains that carried our dreams
    and whispered our secrets into the sky.
    They have not forgotten,
    nor will they ever let go,
    of the memory of your touch
    that once soothed the earth beneath our feet.
    And so, the mountains wait,
    forever still, forever watching,
    holding their breath for you,
    for the moment you return
    and the world takes its first breath again,
    and the earth rises from the silence
    to greet you like a lover,
    whispering your name in the wind.
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    3 Min.
  • The ghost of your hands in mine (Marcella Boccia)

    The ghost of your hands in mine (Marcella Boccia)
    Feb 4 2025
    The ghost of your hands in mine (Marcella Boccia)

    There is a ghost that haunts my palms,
    the faint imprint of your hands in mine,
    woven into the fibers of my skin,
    where your touch once lived,
    and now, only the echo remains.
    I reach for you in the quiet of the night,
    and in that hollow space,
    I feel you as though you never left—
    the warmth of your fingers tracing paths
    along the edge of my soul,
    as if the distance between us
    were nothing but a fleeting thought
    lost in the folds of time.
    Your hands—soft as a forgotten prayer—
    lingered once in the spaces between us,
    and now, they slip through my grasp,
    a memory that slips between my fingers
    like water slipping through a broken glass.
    And yet, I hold on,
    to the ghost of your hands,
    for they are not gone,
    but live in the spaces where love once bloomed.
    They are the pulse of a past that will never fade,
    the whisper of a promise that never breaks. So, I wait,
    with the ghost of your hands in mine,
    feeling the tender weight of what we were,
    and knowing, in the quiet corners of my heart,
    that no distance can erase
    the touch of you that still lingers,
    woven into the fibers of my skin,
    where your hands once were,
    and still, forever, are.
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    2 Min.
  • A prayer woven in absence (Marcella Boccia)

    A prayer woven in absence (Marcella Boccia)
    Feb 4 2025
    A prayer woven in absence (Marcella Boccia)

    I have woven a prayer in the threads of your absence,
    each strand a memory, each knot a whispered longing.
    The silence of your leaving fills the spaces
    where once your voice was a song upon my heart,
    and now, it echoes only in the hollow between breaths.
    Oh love, how do I speak to you now?
    When the air no longer carries your name,
    and the stars refuse to shine in the places
    where we once danced beneath their gaze?
    Still, I call you with a prayer not of words,
    but of the spaces we once shared—
    the quiet places where the soul touches
    what the body cannot reach. In this absence,
    I have learned to listen
    not to the sound of footsteps,
    but to the absence between them,
    not to the words we spoke,
    but to the silence that carries them onward.
    I have woven you into the fabric of the night,
    each thread a sigh, each moment a prayer
    sent up in the smoke of a fire
    that no longer burns,
    but whose warmth lingers on the edges of my skin.
    So I whisper to the wind,
    not for you to hear,
    but for the world to feel—
    the prayer I have woven in your absence,
    a prayer that will remain,
    not as a plea for return,
    but as a testament to the love
    that has no need of presence
    to live and breathe
    in the spaces we have left behind.
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    2 Min.

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