They tell us time heals everything,

as though hours were surgeons,

as though calendars carried sutures.

But I have learned otherwise.

Time does not erase the wound;

it teaches the body a different gait.

The ache remains, but it dulls its blade,

no longer cutting, only whispering,

a scar that knows the weather

before the sky remembers.

And yet, in the hollow carved by loss,

something else begins to bloom.

Joy creeps in like sunlight

through the cracks of an old wall,

stubborn, insistent,

turning rubble into gardens.

We do not get over grief,

as though it were a fence to vault.

We grow around it,

branches bending wide

to make room for what is unmovable,

roots finding strength in the stone

that would not shift.

This is the quiet alchemy of survival:

pain becomes soil,

tears water the ground,

and out of what cannot be undone,

life, impossibly, flowers.

when the quiet breaks


i learned to love the silence 
not because it felt like peace— 
but because it never lied to me.

the noise left bruises, 
every laugh a little jagged 
every “i’m fine” cracked at the edges 
and every promise wore someone else's face.

but silence? she didn’t pretend. 
she just sat beside me while my hands trembled, 
while my breath forgot how to stay.

people say healing is loud 
but mine looked like folded laundry 
and rooms i didn’t run from.

.

A skull reflected in tangled grass — a fleeting moment bridging endings and beginnings. Photo by Nik on Unsplash

Author’s Reflection

In gathering these eleven poems into “Static & Starfire,” I’ve traced the contours of my own unravelling and the faint frequencies that sometimes pierce through the static. This collection exists as a witness — neither monument nor memorial, but rather a constellation of moments suspended at the precipice.

I write from the threshold, that liminal space where certainty dissolves and possibility flickers. These poems do not chart a linear path from darkness to light — such narratives feel too neat, too certain for the territories I’ve traversed. Instead, they map the jagged geographies of a consciousness fragmented by systems of indifference, by the weight of documentation that somehow never suffices, by the gnawing certainty that some doors have permanently closed.

Yet even in mapping these shadowlands, I found myself drawn to the contrapuntal — the simultaneous existence of surrender and persistence, the quantum state where multiple truths coexist without collapsing into singular certainty. Like Schrödinger’s theoretical cat, these poems exist in superposition, containing both the voice that whispers “let go” and the one that murmurs “hold on,” neither drowning out the other.

The ink I’ve spilled here serves as both chronicle and compass. I cannot say where it leads. Some maps outline territories we need not visit; some bridges span chasms we might choose not to cross. What matters, perhaps, is the act of cartography itself — the naming of landmarks in an unmapped wilderness, the marking of paths both taken and untaken.

I offer these words not as a resolution but as an echo, not as an answer but as a question. They belong now to the reader, to interpret through the lens of their own luminous darkness, their own static and starfire.

In the crucible of these pages, I remain — like the poems themselves — suspended between multiple endings, authoring and reauthoring the self anew with each turning of the page.

— David Wakeham

In shadowed streets where silence weeps,

And echoes chase the feet of time,

A whisper hums where sorrow sleeps,

“Stay soft,” it sings, “though life may climb

Its thorn-wrought walls and break your skin,

Do not let hardness settle in.”

For pain may press with quiet might,

May twist the dawn into the night,

But you, dear soul, are not your ache,

Not every bruise, not every break.

You are the hush between the rain,

The breath that rises after pain.

So let it hurt. Let teardrops fall

Like silver bells down sorrow’s wall.

Let it swell and let it sting,

Grief is a wild, untamed thing.

But let it heal. The heart, it knows

How even shattered gardens grow.

And when the ache begins to fade,

Like fog dissolved by morning’s blade,

Let it go—release its hold,

The stories pain has tried to mold.

You are more than what you bear,

A flame still dancing through despair.

So rise, as mist that greets the sun,

As rivers do when thaw has come.

Rise soft, rise fierce, rise with your grace,

The world may harden—but not your face.

Smile with the soul that’s weathered through,

There’s still a bloom inside of you.

Oh, tender balm, the sweetest art,

A force unseen that mends the heart,

Through whispered winds and golden light,

Love heals the wounds of endless night.

Its touch is soft, yet deeply sure,

A salve for pain no time could cure.

In every glance, in every sigh,

It weaves a bridge where sorrows lie.

Beneath the shadows, cold and deep,

Where silent fears and heartbreaks sleep,

Love stirs the soul, ignites the flame,

And teaches us we're not to blame.

It breaks the chains of loss and woe,

Through gentle streams, it bids us grow.

A symphony of hope it plays,

And paints with grace the darkest days.

When grief has silenced all our songs,

And life feels cruel, unjust, and wrong,

Love bends the air with soft refrain,

And fills the cracks with joy again.

It dwells in hands that hold with care,

In every prayer, in every stare.

In laughter shared and tears that flow,

Love whispers, "Child, you're not alone."

Its healing power transcends the scars,

Unites the earth, connects the stars.

A boundless force, it knows no end,

A steadfast guide, a truest friend.

Through love, the shattered heart is whole,

It breathes new life into the soul.

Oh, sacred cure, eternal grace,

The healer time cannot replace.

For love is more than fleeting bliss;

It lives in every tender kiss,

In acts of kindness, pure and true,

The healing of love renews, anew.

"Primum non nocere," a principle profound,

Not rigid law, but wisdom found.

In healing's halls, where choices weigh,

It guides the hand, but doesn't sway.

"ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," a balanced plea,

"To benefit, or harm not," complexity's key.

Not black and white, but shades between,

Where modern medicine's challenges are seen.

The caduceus gleams, oft misunderstood,

While Asclepius' staff stands where healing stood.

Symbols twisted, meanings blurred,

Yet ethical practice remains undeterred.

In sterile rooms where decisions loom,

Doctors and patients dispel the gloom.

They weigh the risks, consider gain,

In partnership, to ease the pain.

Some peddle falsehoods, sweet and bright,

While truth seeks haven in the night.

But evidence-based practice stands tall,

Against deception's siren call.

"Primum nil nocere," evolving still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

To strive for best, while harm to shun,

In healing's never-ending run.

In research labs and by bedsides true,

Ethical minds seek what to do.

Through trials tested, with knowledge bright,

They pierce the veil of health's long night.

"To benefit, or harm not," the true decree,

A beacon burning, for all to see.

Not simple maxim, but complex art,

Where science meets the human heart.

With shared trust, respect held high,

Patient and healer together try

To chart a course through health's dark sea,

With ethics as their guiding key.

         "Primum non nocere," oft misapplied,

Not absolute, but a principle to guide.

In Hippocrates' time and modern day,

It's context and intent that hold sway.

The Greek, "ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," rings true,

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," anew.

A nuanced approach, not black and white,

Balancing risks in healing's light.

The caduceus twined, with wings so bright,

A symbol of commerce, not healing's might.

Asclepius' staff, with serpent alone,

The true emblem of medicine, long known.

In modern clinics, where science reigns,

Ethical practice carefully maintains

A balance 'twixt benefit and potential harm,

With patient's values central to this charm.

Open communication, a cornerstone strong,

Where patient and doctor, together belong.

In shared decisions, they navigate

The complex paths that health dictate.

Some may twist ethics for selfish gain,

But true healers strive to ease pain.

With evidence-based practice as their guide,

They stand against misinformation's tide.

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," evolves still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

From rigorous study, and trials so keen,

True healing emerges, complex yet clean.

In healing's art, there's no guarantee,

But ethical practice sets conscience free.

With care and skill, and wisdom's light,

We navigate health's day and night.

Πρῶτον μὴ βλάπτειν, a principle misunderstood,

Not black and white, but shades of good.

Where healing's art meets science's light,

And ethical minds must choose what's right.

The caduceus gleams, a symbol misconstrued,

Where commerce and care are often viewed.

But Asclepius' staff, with single snake entwined,

Represents true healing, carefully refined.

In modern halls where choices weigh,

Doctors and patients find their way.

Through risks and benefits, they navigate,

Shared understanding they cultivate.

Some peddle cures with hollow claims,

Exploiting fears for selfish aims.

But true healers, with knowledge sound,

On evidence their practice ground.

"Primum nil nocere," a guide, not chain,

Encouraging thought in health's domain.

Balance sought 'twixt act and pause,

For healing's not without its flaws.

In research labs and by bedsides too,

Ethical minds seek what is true.

Through trials tested, their wisdom grows,

A beacon bright as knowledge flows.

ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν, the call remains,

For those who heal, not those who feign.

In partnership with those they treat,

They strive to make care more complete.

I am in the Universe, the Universe is in my Body, the Universe and I are combined Together (the key)

I am sending out all negative vibrations, all sickness and disease, all imbalances, out into the farthest reaches of the Universe and beyond like billows of smoke. (Speak the imbalances, visualize them leaving like smoke).

The Universe is sending me

Its Loving Light of Healing,

Its Loving Light of Kindness,

Its Loving Light of Forgiveness,

Its Loving Light of Gratitude...

Healing Every part of my

Mind, body and spirit 

(Speak and visualize the healing of every part of the mind body and spirit being healed).

Thank the Universe for its Healing Light of Love kindness forgiveness and gratitude....

The healing path continues as I learn and grow spiritually.

Honor and thanks to Master Chunyi Lin of Spring Forest QiGong. Thanks to YouTube videos and the Universe guiding me to this amazing powerful and spiritual meditation and practice....

Peace love and light