PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Live life unfettered 

Lasso the Morose 

Seek not only the sullen

For there, a lily can never grow

Darkness and Light, the circle of life

Always cherish the beauty 

that blazes through the night

Be a seeker of knowledge

Whilst traveling through the sands of time

Your brilliance beckons 

Those who wish to shine

May your viridescent dancing orbs

Never dwell too long in desolation 

Let Lunar dreams harvest your divine energy

And soak into the roots of your soul 

They do not speak of dying,

not in the quiet grocery line,

not beneath the flicker of café lights,

not when the sky loosens its robe of stars,

and oh, what a grave mistake.

For death is not some villain in a cloak,

but the oldest truth,

the shadow stitched to your soles,

the hush behind the heartbeat.

And if you dare to meet it,

not with dread, but with reverence,

you live.

Not someday.

Now.

With a fire that does not ask for permission,

you will step out of the anger rooms,

shed the shroud of “what will they think,”

and walk barefoot into your wild life,

untamed, imperfect, and exquisitely yours.

A child who has tasted death’s breath,

returns with eyes older than calendars,

not brave, but lucid.

Not reckless, but awake.

You see, it is not courage,

to sip the rain like wine,

to laugh so hard the stars come closer,

it is logic.

It is sense.

It is the compass of those who know the road ends,

so they sing while walking.

So love.

Not as a performance, but as a pulse.

Learn.

Not for praise, but for wonder.

Taste.

The peach, the kiss, the grief, the salt.

And leave behind no legacy but this:

That you were here.

Truly.

Madly.

Moment by moment, as a brief candle,

burning unapologetically in the wind.

I close the book, its spine sighs shut,

the whisper of a thousand nights drawn in.

A chapter folds like hands in prayer,

but not all endings are so clean.

The lantern dims. The room forgets.

Yet on my fingers, dusk still clings,

not with fire, but with a bruise,

of words that bled with shaken wings.

I turned the page; it turned me back,

a mirror’s glance, a hollow swell.

The tale is done, but silence keeps,

what ink refuses to quell.

The parchment sleeps, but I remain

marked by the shadows love once wore.

We name it "past", but past is ink,

and ink remembers so much more.

So let the book stay closed awhile,

beneath the dust, beneath the rain.

The lines may fade, but not the ache,

of what was written in hurried vein.

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.

Soliloquy at the Breaking Point

In chambers echoing—my fractured soul—

where shadows dance, unseen scars take their toll...

I etch these words. A final, fragile—

(Can they hear?)

(Will they understand this cry?)

To those who held my heart... before... this long goodbye.

Each letter, see it bleeds; a piece laid bare,

this testament to all I couldn't quite... bear.

students:

seekers, flame.

For you, my students—seekers of truth, bright flame—

I leave these shards of wisdom—

(hard-won . . . whispered . . . shame?)

Remember... every lesson, every shared, soft sigh,

the quiet strength we forged—through tears that never fully dry.

Let courage be your compass—knowledge... shield it well—

Against the world's harsh stage, where cruelties often dwell,

and shadows gather deep.

And for my creatures... faithful, constant hearts, dear friends,

whose artless love sustained... through all my darkest parts, my bitter ends,

Creatures . . .

faithful hearts,

I pen instructions—woven with my love—so true—

To keep you safe... protected...

(Oh, what more . . . what more can one broken soul do?)

It breaks me—utterly—to imagine your soft cries... your questing gaze,

bereft of tender touch... those gentle, purring lullabies through lonely days.

I must pray... I must hope... that other hands will appear, benign and kind,

To give you all the love... the constant warmth... you were always meant to find.

For I am ghost... already... of who I was...

doors shut—

each road exhausted... what is there left...

nothing more.

This homelessness—a spectre, fate too grim to face for you, my gentle ones,

No life, no peace... no sunlit window... no chance...

beneath indifferent suns.

And so, with aching soul—my will... it shatters, trembles, still—

The only end... I'm left with... the bitter cup I choose to fill.

A cruel kindness, then—cloaked in darkest, deepest despair...

To free myself... from burdens I no longer... can bear...

(A mercy . . . or surrender . . . to the air?)

Yet, even as I teeter... on the brink... a thread of hope... a fragile link...

I see you... in my fading dreams...

homes of endless, gentle spring...

where love... will be your shelter... and your steady, joyful wing...

This fleeting vision... it soothes this weary... fading heart...

A fragile balm... to ease the endless sting of my depart...

Though I must fade—dissolve—into the coming, silent night...

My love endures...

(a flickering . . . distant . . . burning light?)

So let these whispered words... this haunted, broken, faltering cry...

Stand as a promise... that will never... never truly die...

In every trembling line... a piece of me... you'll find, somehow,

will watch... will guide... the souls you're meant to be... starting now.

And as I slip... into the vast... unknown...

I pray you'll find the peace... a peace I've never, ever known...

For in the tapestry of love we've spun... with threads so fine,

Our souls will hold... entwined...

(Even when . . . this life . . . no longer . . . mine?)

Echoes in Ice

I am the spectre . . . unwritten ends, now brittle,

A vessel . . . cruel winds . . . ice-shattered . . .

Each breath a battle . . . a final trial . . .

I pen these words, one last . . . fractured denial.

cruel winds . . .

shattered . . .

denial.

To those I’ve guided . . . nurtured . . . may you heal,

Whose minds I’ve . . . sparked, dreams I hoped to reveal,

I leave these shards . . . wisdom . . . hard-won, glacial proof,

. . . strength forged in fires . . . an unspoken, chilling truth.

For creatures . . .

shared my heart,

love . . .

tear-stained part,

And for the creatures . . . who shared my heart’s brief thaw,

Whose love sustained . . . each tear-stained, fragile part,

I craft a plan . . . with trembling hand . . . numb soul,

To keep you safe . . . protected . . . healed and whole.

plan . . .

safe . . .

whole.

It rends my spirit . . . the thought of your soft cries,

Bereft of touch . . . my whispered lullabies.

But I must hope . . . that fate might intervene,

To bless you with love . . . always felt, always seen.

For I am lost . . . a wanderer in this biting night,

Each path erased by rime . . . each door barred tight.

The spectre of the streets . . . a fate too cruel, too stark,

No home for you . . . no chance . . . no warming spark, life renewed.

Spectre . . .

night,

paths erased . . .

no home . . .

no chance . . .

And so, with aching . . . tear-frosted face,

I choose the only end . . . to embrace.

A twisted mercy . . . sorrow's icy shawl,

To free myself . . . these burdens, once and for all.

twisted mercy . . .

sorrow's shawl.

Yet even as I drift . . . towards the brink,

A fragile hope persists . . . a shimmering, frosted link.

In dreams, I see you thrive . . . in homes of gentle light,

Where love will be . . . a guardian . . . to your sight.

Drift . . .

dreams . . .

light.

This fleeting vision . . . for my shattered core,

A salve to ease . . . the ache of nevermore.

Though I must fade . . . into oblivion's embrace,

My love will be . . . a shield . . . your saving grace.

Shattered . . .

salve . . .

nevermore.

So let these words . . . this haunted, fractured requiem,

Stand as a promise . . . whispered on a frozen limb.

In every line . . . a piece of me . . . still bright,

To guide you always . . . through each encroaching, darkest night.

And as I slip . . . to the great unknown, so vast,

I pray you'll find . . . a peace I've never known, to last.

For in the fabric . . . of love we've surely sewn,

Our souls . . . entwined, forever . . . though you face the world . . . on your own.

I am . . .

unwritten . . .

gone.

Title: WHAT IS IT ABOUT YOU?

What is it about you, that pulls me in?

Yes you are beautiful, outside and in!

I find you alluring, and sexy fine...

And it makes me wonder, what it would be like; if you were mine!

You have lips, that I want to kiss...

When you're not around, it's you that I miss!

I look in your eyes, and what is it I see..

I see that you are, interested in me!

Your have a smile, I want to inspire each day...

To kiss you each morning,, would be one way.

To make love to you, would take a whole night...

I'd want to please you, and do everything right!

What is it about you, that pulls me in?

I don't really care,,  as long as you do it again!

Paul A Posney 5/16/2

Awake, dear soul, as the dawn softly calls,

Through the veil of the night, the light gently falls.

With whispers of purpose, the morning begins,

A sacred refrain from the depths within.

"I matter," you murmur, and the world leans to hear,

Your essence, a symphony, vibrant and clear.

In the arms of self-love, your heart finds its grace,

A radiant glow time cannot erase.

"I am worthy," the mantra, a steadfast decree,

An echo of truth in eternity's sea.

Your value, unshaken, stands tall as the sun,

A luminous thread in the weave just begun.

"I have a great purpose," the universe hums,

A celestial promise of what’s yet to come.

Through beauty and abundance, you brightly shine,

A beacon of hope, both earthly and divine.

"I have a gift," you proclaim with pure might,

A treasure that dazzles in the soft morning light.

Your joy is your birthright, your spirit set free,

"I deserve to be happy," a bold, sacred plea.

With wisdom and courage, your journey unfolds,

"I am wise, I am learning," your story retold.

Intelligent thoughts, like rivers, take flight,

Guiding your path through shadow to light.

"I am healing," you chant, and the wounds start to mend,

"I am evolving," your anthem, the truth you defend.

Creating, manifesting, with heart open wide,

A life rich with wonder, your soul’s chosen guide.

These mantras, like seeds, in your spirit now grow,

Morning’s promise of love in your being bestows.

A better life rises, the dawn’s sweet embrace,

Infused with your essence, your infinite grace.

Finding solace under the Southern Cross, where memory becomes a constellation. Image by Midjourney v7.

Between Broken Paths and Stars

For Millie and Mr. Kitty, my guiding stars

My very being flickers, who can trace 
This self I bear, a star about to fade? 
This vessel, home to sorrows, 
finds no space But vertigo, a mind in light and shade. 
This unjust world, its balance cracked and lost — 
Yet still I am — I live — though tempest-tossed.

Into the storm of cold, dismissive eyes, 
Into the swirling sea of disbelief, 
Where documented, earnest, unheard cries 
Find no safe harbour, no shore, no relief. 
All that I cherished dissolves into mist, 
My Millie murdered, her comfort now unkissed.

I tread on broken paths none comprehend, 
Each step through searing flame, a daily pain. 
Authorities watch with dispassionate lens, 
Their coffers full, while I shoulder the blame. 
I labour through days of unyielding strain, 
Yet cannot shed these shackles of disdain.

I yearn for havens where compassion dwells, 
For quiet corners where truth might gently bloom; 
Instead, I find but empty, hollow shells 
Of systems built to seal a spirit’s tomb. 
Medical reports stack high, unread, unseen, 
While hunger gnaws where solace might have been.

If those who govern, those who feign to care, 
Choose wilful blindness as they watch me fall, 
Why not complete this suffering laid bare? 
A kinder end than no response at all. 
The noose of neglect tightens day by day — 
At least speak truth as you all turn away.

So let me rest where honesty prevails, 
The earth below; above, celestial skies. 
No more false promises or hollow tales, 
Just peace at last when this tired spirit flies. 
Yet as the dusk descends, a gentle gleam — 
Your soft green eyes, my Mr. Kitty, like a waking dream.

They are the lanterns in this gathering gloom, 
A steadfast glow that sorrow cannot quell. 
Your purring presence warms this fading room, 
A tender love, a deep and sacred spell. 
And in this love, release finds soft embrace — 
No stark farewell, but entry to a grace, 
A dream within a dream, a starlit, sacred place. 
Your love, a light that time cannot erase.