Sergey Dobrenkov Poems

To the soul that is proud, dark demons appear,
Whispering lies—that it's holy and pure,
Or they plunge it in deep despair,
Saying salvation will never be there.
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For thousands of years since their fall from Grace,
The desperate demons learned to twist the straight,
To steal the unripe in the darks embrace—
What lacks Gods root, what bears no Graces weight.
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You thought you owned the night,
But the night owns you.
A shadow dancing in a borrowed light,
A ghost in rewound time,
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Blessed love can never be despair,
For the Creator knows the heart's hidden prayer—
Even words the lips refuse to bear.
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If your voice holds no flame, just the echo of night,
A hollow refrain with no spark to ignite,
Then let the stillness rise, let the quiet remain—
For a word without fire is a breath without name...
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The key turned in the lock—a familiar sound…
The door sighed… just as we once sighed
Over lines of old and bitter rhymes profound,
So, gift, oh gift this loneliness till dawn's light,
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On the inaccessible peak,
There must be flowers—
Soft as whispers, bright as stars,
Untouched by earthly hours.
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Embers dance, beneath my breath,
Where the heart is crowned.
Time becomes a flame…
Let old be cast down.
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Where the river stops breathing,
Where the ice keeps strange names,
I stand between «was» and «will be»,
I am silence.
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On the verge of waking and of sleep,
Where does my dreaming fancy stray?
Into what chasms, bottomless and deep,
What starry wanderings far away?
...