A distant glimmer A tormented light A velvety breeze A winter fire. I hear a distant song. I feel a gentle pressure. Like a fingertip Caressing my chest, my heart. You left too soon I never got to know you Nor touch you, whisper to you, caress you, or speak to you Despite everything, you ensured I never forgot you Because deep down, you were already within me. You tell me your life story. But I can't understand it. Only listen to it Like a dawn lullaby. You remain dead inside me. In some fleeting place Where I can only remember you In dreams and spells Hold me and don't let go! Give me a little of your fullness From when we were together From when our hearts shared; Laughed, cried, loved. Why am I thinking of you now? I don't know who you are, nor where you come from. Your distant presence unsettles me. And I wish you were here now. I don't know your shape. I don't know your face. Nor your eyes Nor your resonant light. You drifted away from me. Without me noticing The years passed And time ran out. I never found you And if I did I didn't recognize you. The light in your eyes Shines like two candles Yellow, wanting to touch the sky Caress the clouds To touch the moon. I hope to reconcile with you. I hope to remember you again. I hope you'll wait for me again Because without finding you I have no soul, no voice, no existence. Written: 12/21/2025 Photo tag: lost © Jesus Jordan Parra
Hauntingly beautiful and atmospheric poem, Jesus!
The poem feels like someone reaching toward a presence they never truly held, yet still carry like a faint warmth under the ribs. What moves me most is the tenderness of the sensations a distant song, a fingertip on the heart as if memory itself were trying to comfort the speaker. The grief here is shaped not by loss alone, but by all the moments that never had the chance to happen. The idea of someone “dead inside me” captures that haunting mix of intimacy and absence, a life that flickers only in dreams. The poem treats memory like a fragile ember, glowing just enough to ache. The longing to reclaim what was shared laughter, tears, love feels deeply human, even if those memories are imagined or half‑remembered. The uncertainty about who this presence truly was adds a trembling vulnerability. And the final plea reveals the deepest truth: without reconnecting with this lost inner light, the speaker feels unmoored, as if a part of their soul slipped away before they ever learned its name.