Elegy Of The Vanished Horizons Poem by Alexander Romanov

As long as life endures within our breast,
Amid the ice where crimson stories lie,
In places where our love is laid to rest,
And toil has drained the tears we cannot cry;
On sleeves now torn, insignias erased—
The swastika falls softly into dust.
If only we were fools by dreams embraced,
With eyes uplifted to the clouds we trust.

Our souls, like butterflies of glass, ascend,
Enveloped in the veil of hope's lament,
They rise above the grief that has no end,
Beyond the garments black with sorrow bent.
Our bodies seep into the hungry earth,
Like milk that's poured upon the barren stone;
Too brief the days allotted since our birth,
To watch the clouds and feel we are not alone.

Beneath the shadow of our own demise,
In yearning just to live, we offer all—
We shed the tears of children yet to rise,
Their future bound within our fate's recall.
Forgive us for the weakness deep inside,
For sorrows vast as seas without a shore;
We grieve beneath the clouds that gently glide,
And bear the silent echoes evermore.