"Forsaken Height"

Golden angel wings — severed, suspended, no longer soaring. They hang alone, no body, no sky — and yet they still shine. They are not loss, but memory. A memory of flight.

Thick textures and heavy strokes bring a sculptural weight to the painting. The wings feel tangible — like you could touch the past, feel the absence. Paint drips downward — like tears, like time, like blood. But the wings still glow, quietly, as if holding onto something sacred.

This artwork is about falling without losing grace, about the beauty of what remains after the divine is gone. It speaks of silence, memory, and the invisible dignity of things no longer whole.

"Forsaken Height"

by Veranika Khvorashch

They no longer fly, nor whisper the air —
Just gold and shadow, gently left there.
Wings without body, weightless with ache,
As if someone tore them and left in their wake.

The paint runs down like unsaid prayers,
Like wounds from forgotten heavenly stairs.
But still they shimmer, soft and deep,
A silent vow the sky will keep.