She kept walking—until emotions burst.
Weeping, she cried out in a public space,
Where no one cared enough to stop or see
The woman breaking at the corner of the road.
In her sobs, a memory returned:
A voice, a message—
New beginnings,
And a man who stood like a torch of light
In the dim glow of night.
But greed mocked her,
And laughter echoed in that cruel place—
A dungeon of fire.
Still, God sent a kind-hearted rescuer.
She was hungry, tired, and pale,
On the edge of vanishing into the day.
No food, no coin,
Just emptiness and dry hope
Wishing to leave,
To be anywhere else but there.
To connect in the world of paradise
Where in that place could she find?
Where in that place she was betrayed
Where in that place, she begged for kindness.
It's a truth that she will bring
And the hope and courage in her heart that will forever be treasured until she finds a place that she can call "home".
in one dream this poet saw a horrific scene
where i was sitting on top of the house
and yet water had reached that high
submerging everything in its way
in the same dream,
i saw a child getting washed away
while his mother screaming for help, ready to jump
to rescue but is held back by others
this poet tried to jump
but my hands were tied in a chain
as i helplessly watched with tears in my eyes
i saw the child drown to the river bed
I’m summoned to a baby shower
The mum to be’s flustered and dour
As her waters just broke
In front of shocked folk
Her baby arrived in an hour
I cleaned up mum and baby Ted
And lifted Ted above my head
No diaper, I'm cursed
He piddles, - nowt's worst
No wonder my face turned bright red
sun's too hot to bear—
he just wanted a tan but
became a snack fast.
Without my pen, the pain becomes my voice.
The cruelty of others, the hardness of their hearts,
Linger in this place of cult,
Where public shaming is currency.
I scream for help, face to face,
Yet they cast me deeper into despair.
Tears bleed red, patience drains,
My heart trembles, a silent echo in the vast universe.
My eyes never dry, my body weakens,
Heart torn apart, full of anguish,
Yet no one feels the depth within;
They mistrust the plea for help.
This is my story, my life—
Manipulated by whispers,
By cults hiding in plain sight.
Insecurity among them breeds cruelty.
They lurk at corners, ready to strike.
I called for help. He laughed: "You're funny."
How can real danger ever sound like a joke?
This is the world's cruel reality:
Where chasing money and shifting blame
Leave no space for help.
And still—I believe, somewhere, somehow,
kindness awaits—
like a single candle glimmering
in the heart of the void.
The Earth isn't dying—no, she's screaming, a sound you've stopped hearing.
she cried when girls walked miles for rusted, tainted water,
when ancient forests become forgotten, ash–filled pyres,
no worn map ever dared to mark.
In my homeland,
we don't fear the tempest's furious might.
We fear the silence –
The hollow echo of empty, cracked wells,
the desolate stretch of barren, parched fields,
The early,unforgiving digging of our graves.
They label us “developing,”
yet we are always the very first to drown,
The very first to wither from hunger's bite,
The very first to forfeit a future
we never, ever sought to destroy.
They peddle green, plastic-wrapped illusions.
“Eco.” “Clean.”
As if mere words could somehow
unscorch the blazes from the sky.
But behold, we stand–
girls with bare hands, replanting the struggling forests,
boys coding, fighting against the swift collapse,
children marching, with fierce fire in their lungs.
I continue to write.
Because even now,
The Earth, in her enduring wisdom, still believes in us.
A-s
N-ations
G-o
I-nto
E-conomic
M-eltdown
A-ll
Y-ear,
C-ountries
A-re
M-aking
P-romises
O-f
S-ustenance
©bfa053025
Monocrostic (Birthday of Angie May H. Campos)
J-ump
O-ver
V-ery
I-nclement
E-nvironment,
A-nd
N-egate
N-ature's
B-acklash,
U-sing
M-ountains
A-nd
L-akes
A-round
Y-ou
©bfa052025
Monocrostic (Birthday of Jovie Ann A. Bumalay)
Long after midnight
in late December
woke one night in total fright
as where I was did not remember
but more importantly
couldn't see
the forest for the trees
and did not recall myself at all
or who exactly was this me
but when I could
it would feel so good
as then I'd be out of the woods
so instead of groping blind
did quite the obvious thing
which then did spring to mind
made my way across the floor
stumbling fumbling 'til I stood
before the full-length mirror
on the wall beside the door
and to behold the sight
with my sore and tired eyes
wisely switched on the light
illuminated lo there was I
in all my glory
I found myself
end of story
I accidentally burned my breakfast toast.
I gave a thirty minute monologue
on this heinous crime.
To what’s left of the crust,
I stared, then cursed, then laughed
so hard the room shivered
and in the echoes—
Surprise!
I found the voice I choked
for being ‘inappropriate’—
—Time to toast.
I was startled by my cracked laughter,
as the cat groomed herself
indifferently witnessing
my twenties
spent trashing a toaster.
I announced, to the stinging smell of embers,
“We’re filing a complaint
to whoever put us
in this world where you can’t trust a toaster…”
But we all know,
in a week,
I'll likely trust it again.
If roses were a book
Would they still be read
And if violets are blue
Does that mean they're in depression
sadden and blue
I have no answers
for I'm not in a dictionary or
An encyclopedia nor computer with gigabytes
All the rainbows every colors
All the antidepressants doesn't bring me joy
Because all in all is Elohim God
Creator of it all for now I feel better
No longer am I in a crisis dilemma
5/16/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025
Earth's fever rising,
Melting ice, a silent tear,
Future starts to drown.
©bfa042325
Beware the midlife crisis:
It takes you by surprise
after your 40th existential rise.
There is no remedy
to cure this dralody.
All you can do
is feel blue
and pout
day in and day out.
They say that life begins at forty
but they are wrong
because not everyone
starts looking for fun
in the birthday song.
while dancing
and prancing
on the road from Trinity
to some infinity.
There’s children growing up that believe the stars
sound like crickets chirping,
for their only exposure to these sources of wonder
are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves
and soundtracks overlaying simulations.
The night they know
is bright as day,
lit by “satellite internet constellations”
or fogged out by the price of progress.
They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards
and be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel
“achievements”
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.
Guys, why only a few persons out of thousands triumph?,
Answer for this simple question is positive attitude only, How to think positive always in your life crisis?, Please have faith in yourself and your abilities fully, A peaceful mind generates power obviously, Stop fuming and fretting in your life certainly, Guys, hope for the best thing hopefully, New thoughts can remake you probably, Positive thoughts help you recover from diseases, Focus and cultivate your strength please, Kill your negative thoughts and disagrees, Never aid in worrying conversation activities, Promote friendship with fellow people constantly, Convince yourself and rule the whole world truly.
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