They ask what I long for, and in my silence, the answer weaves itself,
I want to calm the restless hair framing her face like a story.
I want to capture her falling tears in the vault of my deep eyes,
To abandon her pain in a nameless alley where memories dare not reach.
I want to gather the lonely roads of her heart and bring them only to me,
To shelter her smile in the most hidden, divine corners of my soul.
To carry her smile as a secret treasure in the depths of my being,
To be her refuge and solace in the magic of starry and cold nights.
I want to protect her from the world's shadows, for my arms to be her home,
To gift her the tranquility and peace that only love can paint in life.
To soothe her soul weary from searching and bring her eternity as a gift,
For us to be, the two of us, a universe of dreams, an esoteric and rare magic truth.
Inspired by... Love
Love is the answer
By Michelle Morris
17/08/2025
Love is the answer
It is always the answer
Even when we forget
Even when we're confused
Look around you
Notice where the peace is missing
Notice where the communication is off
Notice where we live past each other
What we need is to connect
What we need is to delete ego
What we need is our humanity
What we need is grace and humility
More compassion and honesty
Kindness and empathy
Showing up authentically
Giving a hand where needed
Community rather than isolation
A smile instead of a frown
Patience instead of anger
Truly listening and understanding
Because we are all connected
We are all one in spirit
No matter the perceived differences
Our atoms are from the same source
So learn to love yourself
Learn to love others
Learn to be part of the greater good
For your soul knows love is everything
Love is the answer
It is always the answer
Love is our legacy
For our souls' eternal salvation
© Michelle Morris, 2025
Why do some believe it’ll get better
while others are sure it’ll get worse
Why do some take wild chances
while others sit out the big dances
Why do some sock it away
while others live for today
Why do some sit and think
while others resort to drink
The answer, my friend, will depend
on what you discover in the end
What gave me away?
Was it my sway?
Or my long limber limbs
Like glasses with broken rims?
Oh sure, wind has its way with me,
But broken or uprooted, I’ll never be.
Neither short, not tall, could be my description.
My strength and elasticity, a better depiction.
Cry me a river is your first hint,
And for a second; I’m easily bent.
Not a flower, or a bush, but green if you please.
In a botanical listing, I’m found under trees.
What I am, I will proudly bellow.
I’m known to most as a weeping willow.
Winter storm.
Question marks
fall like snow
on shoulders bent
with seeking.
Hollow caverns
where certainty
once lived
echo chambers
of why.
Face pressed
against cold glass.
Fingertips trace
what cannot
be grasped.
Footsteps
soft on unseen paths.
Autumn leaves
crumble
in cupped palms.
Dreams, half-formed,
scatter
like dust
through fingers
that cannot hold.
Shell splits.
Light finds
the crack,
makes home
in broken space.
Seeds
in soil dark
with surrender.
Emptiness,
the deepest cup.
Time spirals.
Winter storm,
spring light
dancers
forever entwined.
Seasons turn.
Seeking becomes
soil.
Purpose
in the endless round.
Morning
breaks endless night.
Golden light
spills through spaces
carved by questions.
Rain-clear words
unfold.
Dark landscapes
reveal their faces.
Stumbling
was beauty.
Coffee steams
in morning cups.
Mystery
becomes
the ground we stand on.
Sacred spaces
hold golden light
poured by doubt's
careful carving.
We are
spiral dancers:
asking,
answered,
broken,
filled,
home.
I remember the first question
I never had the courage to speak.
I feared I would not receive an answer,
and feared even more if I did.
words were born from hunger,
not from dreams.
I had no dreams,
only roads walked by others,
and I clung to the edge of their shadows,
like a child forbidden to ask
where is the mother.
Wisdom is a trick for the satiated.
for us,
only silence and a pen
with which we write on the wall of the soul:
“I am still here.”
There are those who think the masses
are like a legion of lemmings
doing a death march into the sea
(actually a river)
but suicidal lemmings are a myth
created by none other than Walt Disney
in Alberta, Canada where
(no lemmings live)
the 1958 film 'White Wilderness' was made
and the sordid scandalous scene
by the filmmakers was staged
spinning turntables were constructed
all covered in snow
to jostle and send them tumbling
then off a cliff the poor lemmings
the crew proceeded to throw
There is no God in this lightbulb.
Only the slow hum of its dying.
My shadow curls in the shape of a fetus
on the tile floor,
unwanted by chairs,
forgotten by the table.
I sip yesterday's coffee like a ritual.
Cold. Black.
It does not speak to me
but I pretend it does.
The walls are beige and unjudging.
They do not hate me.
They simply watch.
Their silence is sterile,
like the nurse who saw me cry at twelve
and said, You'll grow out of it.
I trace the dust on the window ledge
like it's a constellation
one only I remember.
Even the spiders don't write here anymore.
Their threads gave up last winter
when I stopped praying.
Outside,
the city is still sinning.
It wears neon like confession.
But I stay here,
an apostate in a cubicle cathedral,
waiting for my name to mean something
to someone
again.
Angel's always answer,
Life's tiny dancer,
They hear all the banter.
Enhance your understanding,
We can be demanding,
Constantly planning,
Standing in our own way.
Whispers come through all day,
Through what others may say,
Or what you see play out,
Release your doubt,
And how you want it to turn out,
Angel's hear you shout,
It's time to learn more about how they speak,
Peeking your attention,
Tweaking your dimension,
Shifting with every word you mention,
They know your intention.
Always pushing you in the direction,
Of another life lesson,
As we dance to our expression,
Making our own impression,
Within this dimension.
Love ya Soulsters,
sometimes the answers are hiding,
behind what you don't like arising.
You ride through shadows, chasing dawn,
But you never saw the storm you spawned.
I’m not the girl you left behind--
I walk the dark with purpose, spine.
Your wheels may spin on borrowed fate,
But I was born to navigate.
I don't chase ghosts or beg for grace;
I set my fire and claim my place.
The night knows me--I wear its name,
Not weeping soft, but burning flame.
No chains to break, no debt to pay--
I forged my freedom, kept the way.
So ride, lone wolf, your distant mile.
I walk in boots, not in denial.
You had your shot, your smoke, your song.
But I’ve been midnight all along.
Authors Notes: poetic response to Midnight Rider by The Allman Brothers Band
You don’t owe me anything.
That’s the difference now.
You're not asking.
I'm not hinting for less.
No one is dressing it up
as metaphor.
But I did leave something
where you’d see it.
Not a trap—
more like a record that could be
interpreted as invitation.
Of what?
Of how long the echo held
after your part went missing.
That’s all.
I won’t chase it.
I won’t rephrase.
But if something in you
tightened—
if you paused longer
than the line deserved—
then you already know
it was yours.
And you already know
I knew you’d look.
What is beauty?
Can I sing to it?
Can I bathe it in
Honeydew lotion
and read it ancient
love poems
as it fights the
gravity of sleep?
Can I feed it
pureed applesauce
and wipe its
dripping face clean?
Can I hold it in my arms
and feel the weight
of infinite potentials
I will carry on my
shoulders until it
finds place for them
on its own?
Can I grasp it
in the enchanting
gaze of a
Beautiful newborn?
Original poem:
Tera hona jaise koi khwaab lgta hai
Koi puche ishq kya hai
To tu uska jawab lagta hai
Khoyi hu mai jisme
Tu wo khayaal lagta hai
Uljhi hu mai jisme
Tu wo sawaal lagta hai
Mai sochti hu Jo kahaniya
Tu uski kitaab lgta hai
Koi agr puche ishq kya hai to tu uska jawab lgta hai!!
Translation:
Your presence feels like a dream
If someone asks what is love,
You are my answer!
You are the thoughts
Where I am lost in
You are the question
I am entangled in
You are the book
Of stories that I think of
If someone asks
What is love
You are my answer!!
Before you ask
The answer is no
I will never surrender courage
For a place of defeat and storage
I will not abandon faith
For a worthless attachment to an uncertain estate
I refuse to relinquish love
For a well-fitted but counterfeit glove
I cannot renounce my goal
For a destination that ambushes my true role
I will not forsake confidence
For a river that runs with polluted opulence
I refuse to discard determination
For a chance to keep company with resignation
I dare not part with humility
For a life that grants honor to futility
Before you ask
Rest assured the answer is no
I remember a guy who is
Going to get married
I asked him
"What's your love for her?"
He said
"She keeps my peace as I keep her."
This sounds to me like thunder
Among the clear sky
Came a lot of needles
How come peace was not
In remembrance to this
It would sound easy
Not to upset a person
I thought so much ponder
As I smile and walked away.
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