PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am but a fleeting phrase, a sentence in your tome,

A whisper in your journey, where countless voices roam.

Yet, in my quiet brevity, a universe took flight,

Filling shelves of boundless thought in the corridors of night.

The libraries you have built within my fragile heart,

Each word, a gilded memory, a masterpiece of art.

I penned your name in starlight, on pages bound with dreams,

Ink flowing like a river through love's eternal streams.

Your smile, the prelude to a sonnet soft and true,

Your laughter, the refrain that the poets always knew.

I've scrawled you in the margins of the world I hold inside,

Where metaphors of longing in endless echoes bide.

Each fleeting glance, a chapter; each touch, a verse divine,

Your presence is the epilogue where I would rest my spine.

Though I am but a sentence, your spirit swells my page,

A symphony of essence no volumes could encage.

My quiet voice may falter as your story carries on,

Yet echoes of my cadence remain long after the dawn.

For though the ink may dwindle, and time may turn to dust,

The libraries I have crafted will never know distrust.

I am merely passing through, a footnote to your tale,

Yet your light ignites my parchment, a flame that will not pale.

So leave me in your chapter, or let my lines erase,

For still, you are the atlas of my soul's most sacred space.

Life is beauty, and life is pain,

a dance of loss, a song of gain.

It shimmers gold, then fades to gray,

a fleeting dawn, a waning day.

It lifts us high with whispered bliss,

soft lips that touch, a lover's kiss.

Yet breaks us, bends us, tests our will,

a mountain steep, a climb uphill.

It thrills, it aches, it sparks, it wanes,

it hums in blood, it roars in veins.

It is laughter, it is weeping,

a waking dream, a midnight creeping.

It is the light that warms the skin,

the fear of losing all within.

It is the hand that pulls you near,

the shadowed doubts, the strangling fear.

It is the mundane, the slow, the still,

the silent hours, the quiet will.

It is the rush, the reckless run,

the roaring fire, the setting sun.

Yet if we never knew the fall,

would heights be precious things at all?

If never lost in tempest deep,

would peace be something worth to keep?

The jagged path, the winding lane,

the burning loss, the hard-won gain,

they carve the heart, they shape the soul,

they make the fractured spirit whole.

So let us rise, though winds may chide,

embrace the waves, the turning tide.

For life's not meant to be a line,

its peaks and valleys make it shine.

Hope and self

Hope is all around,
however for connecting dots
a million things to do.
Thus, restless efforts
will never let down
to crush the setbacks.

A  joyful break
might empower to restore self.
Yet, it is not too old, nor too weak
to focus on self.

My own gravity rests in self,
effort less self, craving for rest,
workaholic self, ambitious for stake,
out of the box self,
redefines to keep the hope!

This goes out to all us who’ve lost someone we love…(and isn’t that all of us?)

For those moments when we find it difficult to welcome joy back into our lives:

They spent their life together…finding joy, laughing, loving…and then

one day she died and he was left to wonder if he would ever find joy or laughter again.

He wondered how long it would take…how many months…how many years

before a memory…a thought of her…wouldn’t fill his eyes with tears.

He loved the life they built…and did not want her to infer…

If he laughed…if he found joy…that meant he was forgetting her.

Then in a misty fog of sadness one day…suddenly…out of the blue

arose a memory of her laughing…and he found himself laughing too.

And as more memories of her laughter flooded in

he realized there was a part of him his sorrow did not destroy…

that in spite of a constant shadow of sadness…

there was still room in his heart for joy.

He discovered so much about himself while she was alive 

and now with her death he learned…

the best way to live with his sadness….

was to allow his joy and laughter to return.

Oh, he still has moments when sadness envelopes him…

and he knows for the rest of his life for sorrow he will not lack…

but since that day, with her encouragement, he’s welcomed his joy and laughter back…

Now whenever he smiles or laughs he looks up…

and thanks her for helping change his point of view…

knowing whenever he finds himself laughing…

somewhere…

she will be laughing too.