PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I only want a little bit of ruin

some marshmallow ash to keep the captive inside

you can play me

hard like a piano

soft like honeysuckle between the teeth

don’t let death chase me

just a fffflicker of it like

oh- oh- there

cutting bringing the tops of my goosebumps to a boil

& every time we kiss

watercolor fade

it washes away

Often in the hush where mortal voices fail,

And Time in solemn hush begins to drift,

There dwells a grace too subtle to unveil,

A space where sorrow weds the soul to lift.

No clang of hour, no clarion of day,

But something soft, an unseen breath between.

The wish once uttered and what fate may say,

A hush where all that might be grows unseen.

For though the tongue does mutter, “I am still,”

The heart, more wise, has learned to wait with grace;

Not bound by fear nor bent to fated will,

But resting in that sweet, uncertain space.

Through prayer and promise lies a holy seam,

A thread of gold the hurried eye might miss.

Where dreams not rushed may gently learn to dream,

And longing knows the cradle of its bliss.

What fool would scorn the bud not yet bloomed?

Or curse the sky for not yet shedding rain?

The rose does ripen in the shade entombed,

And stars are born in quietude and strain.

So I, in stillness, tend the root of trust,

With palms upturned to catch the morning’s grace.

I give my tears unto the waiting dust,

And find a peace that Time cannot displace.

O speak no more of silence as delay,

It is the womb where destinies take form.

Let others run; I choose the patient way,

Where hope, though slow, emerges deep and warm.

In my poetry, I name this magic, hallowed part:

The space where love prepares to touch the heart.

It is not the fair-weather friend

who writes their name upon your heart,

but the one who, seeing the storm,

folds their umbrella shut,

choosing wet shoulders beside you

over comfort alone.

Anyone can walk in sunlight,

laugh in the soft meadow,

but it takes a rare and quiet courage

to stand ankle-deep in puddles,

to let the thunder bruise their sky

so you do not face the lightning alone.

Love is not the absence of rain,

it is the gentle hand that finds yours

when the world is unravelling,

the warmth that lingers in cold mist,

the voice that says without words:

“I will not leave you here.”

So bless the drenched, the loyal,

the ones who stayed when staying cost them dryness.

For their devotion shines brighter than any sun,

and their soaked clothes

are the garments of saints.

When you touch my body, it's electric,

I'm falling down, I'm feeling sea sick.

The light of my days has become you,

While the blood under my skin bleeds through.

Without your touch the world feels cold,

Inside my mind, the thoughts will fold,

Into each other until they transform to dust,

I wait for you to awake at dusk,

And return to me with all your love,

For without it I waste away to the above.

I’m trying to use what I already know

while still learning

please stop feeding me metaphors

I’ll become even more aloof & insufferable

no curfew to break

no husband to bind me

I have forever had the sense

that my love is a calamity

so show me up show me out

make me a meridian

tell me the words

now that my memory has lapsed

do it right & it might feel like a returning

so my lungs will remind me I have never been here

with a shiver of déjà vu

old friend why so shy

I always hope to fall back in your arms again

& feel like I fit

yes maybe my hips don’t curve to your fingers the same anymore

but this is why we are moldable

pinch me into the right pattern

& I will gasp in relief at the pain

my heart loves to tug me down a saltwater fall

pretending we have never spent a night together like this

but I don’t want to find you only crying rivers

smile at me

old friend

even if it’s only with the joker’s face

I’ll rewrite the character with your eyes

I used to save your sentences in secret

but it’s not the only way to learn what I fall for

love with both lips & pen

come on, smile again

& if you need someone to tell

it could be me

she is the laugh

I am the laugher

bubble up from my voice when it’s rising like spring

or should I say I am falling again

a homeless mist / I have not found a place for

as dusk falls over the fields I am deeply settled again

as snowfall over the peaks makes me see you in her shoulders

yet another woman he believed was a mountain

cherry trees in winter hold me confused every time

wind chimes remind me how I like your sound

mostly bursting through every door

you chase it down the hallway

& then some minimalism

speak softly in august heat

the way you twist the doorknob slowly

so only a whisper of air gets in…

all my good problems

put in your hands

when I say you’re mine I also mean I’m yours

spiral wicked witches & I will come to claim them

bucket in hand / even frozen solid I am strong enough now to win

love is no longer / a touch or a face

a whole person I can hold

standing in the middle of it all

I wait for the seasons to change

every tick of the clock

flip of the calendar- adventure

you will continue to rise up in me

& yes graveyards will turn & we will surrender

here’s the hype love

always look forward to now

In your light, I unlearn the dark,

its stiffened tongue, its cold resolve.

And I find instead a language made,

of warmth, of wind, of soft dissolves.

Love arrives not like thunder shouts,

but like a candle's trembling vow.

I feel it flickering against my ribs,

teaching my silence how.

In your beauty, verses form,

not sculpted, not conceived by mind.

But breathed, like morning on the rose,

a hush that petals leave behind.

Your grace makes metaphors collapse;

No simile can ever hold your flame.

Instead, I ink the hush between

your heartbeat and my name.

You dance inside my chest, unseen,

no witness, save this thrum I know.

A pulse of presence so profound,

it makes the blood inside me slow.

I do not speak to you, still you move,

a swirl behind my every sigh.

And when I glimpse you, rare and true,

a sacred star falls through my sky.

That sight becomes this trembling art,

not mine, but merely channelled breath.

A prayer-shaped hush, a flame-writ line,

that dares to love beyond all death.

You are the muse, the moon, the sea,

the silence in the shell I chart.

And in the unseen, you shape my song,

where deep in your being, I become art.

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.