DEVOTION

I build this shrine from ashes

each brick carved by my love for you,

each heartbeat laid, a relic to adore.

You are the spark that sings inside my soul,

a flame burning in my chest,

the pulse beneath it.

Each sight, a verse the light remembers.

Stars tremble, and time forgets to move.

Two fires feeding the same desire.

In our gazes, I see our reflection burning

a truth too fierce to stay hidden.

We are fire tasting fire.

Even the dark knew our names,

whispered them like a secret prayer,

a quiet worship between ruin and rebirth.

Even silence hums our name.

In your gaze, I find the divine undone

a pulse, a sigh, a promise breaking open.

No heaven can contain this hunger,

no prayer can tame its flame.

What is love, if not the art of burning

and calling it devotion?

Here, in the burn of our embrace,

I am whole.

So when the night forgets our names,

it will remember our flame.

© Diana Mistera 

OUR STORY ENDS WHERE SHADOWS FOLD

Our story ends where shadows fold:

Where the moon bleeds 

And silence drapes itself over broken windows.

Within words we never spoke and promises that cracked

Collapsing the reality.

Time bends and fractures like a shattered mirror.

The stars retreat,

And in that infinite dark,

All that remains, is the echo of a story

That never truly belonged to the light.

We are echoes,

Bound to the marrow of the dark,

Our words stitched into the void

Like prayers no god will ever hear.

The shadows fold, and fold again,

Until nothing moves 

But the memory of motion.

©Diana Mistera 

DECAY IS A KIND OF DEVOTION

 Whispers like silent screams

around a decay that never ends

The walls remember what the air forgets,

ghosts of breath caught in the dust

and mirrors dream of faces long gone. 

prayers that turned to ash mid-breath.

Time limps through the corridors,

dragging chains of memory and ruin.

peeling itself from the bones of the world.

Every shadow hums a name

no mouth can bear to speak. 

Portraits weep behind their frames,

their eyes aflame with endless dusk

The air tastes of sorrow and dust,

The moon hangs like an open wound,

dripping silver into the cracks of stone,

while memories crawl through the dark,

their fingers made of rust and regret.

In the quiet, something stirs

not life, not death, but the echo between them,

a song too faint to hear,

too loud to ignore

perception fails where truth begins.

© Diana Mistera 

SACRED ECHOES

Echoes rise from the hollow stone,

chanting

where shadows kneel in silence.

The ruins breathe with ancient promises,

and every wall remembers

a love bound beyond flesh,

a flame that burns without mercy,

a vow etched in blood and ash.

Two souls torn, yet never apart

A sacred wound that will not close

Devotion beyond decay.

We walk as pilgrims in the dark,

carrying a love that cannot perish.

And, in the echoes of eternity, the vow endures.

© Diana Mistera