A sadistic killer, who enjoys it with relish
A woman desperately in want of love
The age numbers small talk turns to relic
A paedophile never at rest until he gave
A robber on the prowl seeking victims.
Broken hearts need that need mending.
(Written on the 28th May, 2021)
bereavement
of beauty:
best
bodies
become
broken
bottles
I have lived and learned,
and i thought i had earned
experience, strength,
and mental health.
But one more time,
i trusted and died.
I don´t want to hide,
i just want to be fine.
Once again people lied,
once again a had to cry.
I know it´s not my fault,
and that soon it will be in my past,
but it´s one more scar on my soul.
and probably wont be the last.
I sat again on that old broken bench at the park,
Watching birds, people, and the last rays of the sun fade by,
Remembering our final words—spoken so far from kind.
A single tear I had to shed for the moments lost in time.
The skies turned suddenly ominous, though I knew not why—
But by the grace of God, a little girl smiled, ever so bright,
And I finally realized: forgiveness is not so far behind.
All the dishes fell down broken
Favorite cups, you won’t believe
Smashed to bits, but it’s unspoken
Myths don’t mention human grief
They don’t want us to come close
Private troubles doesn’t count
If you ask, nobody knows
What was their crime about
The collective guilt is fake
There is no such thing on earth
Otherwise we’re God’s mistake
From the accident of birth
Trevelyan, a sole survivor
Is the one we should remember
See the picture of white rider
On eleventh of November
Of one thousand ninety nine
He escaped the great excess
Of the punishment, confined
To the Land of Lyonesse
Then the plot disintergrates
To the pieces that don’t fit
Well together, so it fades
To the dishes crashed in bits..
BROKEN
Damaged shattered
No longer functioning
Reduced to pieces scattered
Unable to function
Cracked, fractured
Busted
9/3/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
the bucket's cold aura
blooms in white,
though planted seeds,
already read your eyes.
one day's rain
trips out of her rust,
and holds sun,
or a northern hand;
becoming the light
for the ground, made wide
God's weeping
returns weeping —
full like water filling up steel;
pain...now a lily.
Shadows wear no crown
Yet they stand tall
Like they know what
I’m trying to hide
That a man can smile
And shake your hand
While sending you to hell
Building a cage around your neck
Hiding the floor beneath your feet
A broken piece of mercy
Pleading,
Just give me one more night
To find myself.
I Am That I Am
The architecture of the flesh
may fail,
The skin unstitched, a frayed
and fragile veil,
Where silver staples close the
crimson seam,
And hold the borders of a
fractured dream.
We sit within the sterile, quiet
room,
Where shadows stretch and
heavy doubts loom,
Measuring life in sips of clear-lit
glass,
Waiting for the wilderness to
pass.
Yet in this crucible of ache and
bone,
A sovereign sanctuary is made
known.
I am the anchor in the shifting
deep,
The vigil kept while weary
angels sleep.
I am the breath that steadies
through the dark,
The sudden, iridescent, blinding
spark,
That turns a ruin to a holy space,
And paints a window on a
broken face.
No longer tethered to the grief
we hold,
Nor to the phantom weight of
old despair,
I am the vastness where the
storm dissolves,
The axis where the wheeling
world revolves.
Unmade by time, untouched by
mortal scar,
I am the light, the lantern, and
the star-
The timeless current flowing
deep within,
Where endings fade, and all true
things begin.
Wicked smile, turned dust,
Two halves of a broken soul,
Nothing left to chase.
The scalpel left a jagged split,
And heavy silver staples but
To bind the edges of the skin,
And lock the sudden ache
within.
Yet through that raw and ruined
seam,
The scar became a pane of
glass,
A rusted lantern in the dark,
The wound took fire from the
spark,
Transforming what was torn and
blind,
Into lens to look behind.
the clairvoyant promises a clue ~ once she gets more money from you
she says a fat check will come out of the blue ~ her bill will prove it too
still she did miss me coming through ~ with this full disclosure monoku
She is picture perfect in broken glass,
Wearing the look of a heartbroken lass,
Lilacs bloom, but she's not aware, alas!
~
Lavender life goes on, leaves her behind,
For it knows of her hopeless state of mind,
She's in a flux, a depressed black hole bind;
~
Who can rescue her from this forlorn mood?
For she seems saddened and by sorrow blued,
Shards pierced her heart, she cries in solitude;
~
Let her free her mind and bawl in silence,
Bipolar woes have given her license !!
Help her stand against strife in defiance !!
~
Be there for her when she goes through such times,
Pick up the shattered mirror shards sometimes,
Aid her as she builds from them tinkling chimes !!
©Joanna Daniel (26.08.26)
Yesterday, I walked through halls
crowded with memories that aren’t mine.
Dust fell from rotten frames.
My reflection was lost
in an endless collection
of uneasy smiles
and identical, cold stares—
frozen,
waiting for freedom.
But a few feet away,
the cycle repeats.
Every time we talk,
I wonder who they’re hearing
behind the door
that has been broken,
painted,
but never replaced.
What I found was unfamiliar.
There was a new kind of silence—
the kind that doesn’t expect anything,
doesn’t reach for someone
to break it.
Today, the past is drowned out
by the reassuring glow
of sixteen candles.
With each tired song,
that hallway is built over.
And a path is carved
through what remains,
in hopes of a miracle.
My SOS calls hit icebergs,
hopeful messages go unheard;
they chip away and erode time,
defeathering an already flightless bird.
Signals bounce and echo,
rebound and lose their meaning;
an elevator without cable or buttons,
a premiere that lacks a screening.
My ones and zeros add to a minus,
I don’t adapt, cannot charge, have no port;
thumbs doomscroll past my expression,
a post office bereft of letters to sort.
A broken antenna might collect waves unique,
hear words spoken unusual and phrases bold;
my crumpled spine picks up no frequency,
a landfill for a bed, electric dreams untold.
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