Still piano dreams,
dreams in my head are playing.
Playing with the skills of a master,
master of debilitating your sadness.
Sadness identifies the toxicity inside,
inside metastasizing into a notification
notification of imagination amplifying in you.
You embody tenacity, fluidity, determination,
determination incinerates any hesitation.
Hesitation is acceleration for downfall,
downfall is the catalyst for a tempo.
Tempo changes fueled by emotion,
emotion will ebb and flow
flow like ivory.
Love
this easy?
Highly suspicious.
I much prefer perplexing
lust.
Deep secrets won’t make me feel guilty,
there are moments best kept to yourself.
Sacred sort of scratches the surface
of words that don’t make it to whisper.
Smushed within the ashes on these lips,
deep secrets don’t make me feel guilty.
That choice ends their potential gossip,
it is best to leave truth the question.
Soon enough a new story’s floating
then you relish not making the news.
Deep secrets don’t make me feel guilty,
no one can twist what doesn’t exist.
New wind blew in and flattened the sails
as I laughed all the way to the bank.
I’ll stay private in this new Wild West,
deep secrets don’t make me feel guilty.
I have a thousand problems,
Yet the desire to live still remains.
Employment has killed my dreams,
Responsibility has buried my love.
Friends drifted away on the journey of youth,
For a little money, we moved far away from our city.
The house where I spent my childhood,
My youth was spent keeping that house running.
The one who once ran away from time,
Today runs alongside time.
The one who once lived among gatherings,
Today lives in solitude.
The one who was once his mother’s beloved,
Today has become the support for his mother’s two daily meals.
The one who once lived for himself,
Suddenly began living for his loved ones.
Who knows where youth does not take a person,
The one who once never stepped outside his home now takes months to return home.
Who knows what his youth taught him,
That even the boy who was once spoiled began shouldering responsibilities.
Home tonight for E. Fitzgerald V. Vangouh
Carry on
Carry on
why'd you go
away,
the summers not
over yet
Stop the midnight
traffic
with your sour notes
stop it all in your
truse
"starry-starry
night"
paint the picture
& paint it right
Capture all that
turns the air grey
To capture all that
is turning the night time
Gay.
A different season opens the door,
Nature is stripped of its glamour and radiance.
Sadness sings the songs of the day,
Melancholy paints the portrait.
The foliage of farewell falls to the ground,
Telling a story of a fall from glory.
A rhythm of gloom pervades the atmosphere;
They are swept into the abyss beneath.
Farewell heralds a journey to the beyond.
Feeble leaves dance to the rhythm of the night,
They travel toward the unseen light.
The sacred texts reveal fragments of an ancient mystery.
O fall, let this lore of love be the last entanglement.
Let my soul be free from the haunting and encroaching memories.
O redemption, guide me to the path that leads to your door,
For in the deadness of my body, your light will lead me to the eternal portal of glory.
September 22, 2026.
TO BEING FORGIVEN AND GIVING FORGIVENESS
You’ve abandoned me;
You must be so lonely.
Love for you, crowds me.
And you cannot uncrowd it;
For it’s of God’s given grace:-
I’ve forgiven you,
God navigated me to:-
Can’t you forgive me?
I am sorry for my sins;
God’s forgiven me; can’t you?!
An empty chair and the twilight,
Falling leaves adrift in the air,
Confetti for the coming night,
To doleful drizzle unaware.
The sun setting in wounded streaks,
A decadence in confinement,
Birds on leafless boughs, so weak,
How were those days of mine spent?
Please don't die on me yet,
Why don't you look and be near?
To a drooping silhouette,
I'm the one imprisoned here.
Surviving the penitence,
That's how to lose a stake,
It's me who passed the sentence,
For the king of mistake.
An empty chair and the twilight,
The early carols sound bleak,
For a heart alone in the night,
Like a fallen leaf that cannot speak.
November 14, 2004
Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
Very cute at about three pounds,
always remember to feed salvaje.
Maintaining they’re meant for you?
Oh how I pray they remain elusive.
Sadly, size can create a target.
Leave them be, leave them wild,
owned and coddled by no one.
Serial hunters don’t want hand-fed.
Take the hint from divine nature,
ideally only view them from afar.
Left to be wild, allowed to be free
caging them is not an option.
A fur-ball of adorable to be sure,
yet don’t discount their vitality.
Obey what you know is law,
salvaje I’ll be para los tilcayos.
The feeling was real in heart
A glance pierced the heart ,like a dart.
There was a spark,a different glow
Everything was smooth, with the flow.
Year after year,the bond got strong
It all seemed magical, but,I was wrong.
The words looked real,the emotions so true
The love grew deeper,there was no clue.
It was a mistake, to think it real
The pain is deep,hard to deal.
The wounds though invisible, are forever
I was fooled...I wish,I was clever...
The thing I never said ,is ,the regret
To have been loved,feels to be in debt.
Everything every time,was fabricated
It took years to realize, how deeply,I was hated.
Deep inside, my heart regrets and mourns
As the pain,from thousand piercing thorns...
More inspiration from Practical Magic. Love remains the greatest power.
Our magical threads
By Michelle Morris
20/09/2026
This family tree
Not a perfect history
Blessings and curses
Always our reality
An ancient line
Our magical threads
Seeds sown deep
Grown to perfection
The mystery
The stories old
Love torn apart
Curses unfolded
Sisterly love
Family ties
Mothers and fathers
Loved ones who died
This history
We can't repeat
Time to break the curse
To bleed for freedom
Our blood we spill
Combining our hands
Destroying the darkness
Changes time and sands
That hourglass
We just reversed
Love overcame
Our family curse
And you and me
Our love and light
Forever expanded
To win the fight
© Michelle Morris, 2026
Learn the rules of a new game
explore a hidden dirt path
taste the pop up menu
try that seemingly odd match
share your unwavering opinions
let dreams drip onto your hands
work
fight
no back up plan.
That’s how to change reality in an instant.
Tasting
unwalled humanity.
People understanding
how it was meant to be.
A world coexisting.
Handshakes,
respect, and a hello.
Kindness is all it takes
to turn things to mellow.
Vile hostility breaks.
Melted
mistakes blur into peace
as the stars’ sparkles spread.
Explosive flames will cease
transforming the bloodshed.
Brand-new
brings about the return
to a tranquil virtue.
Calm continues to burn
that certain shade of blue.
Same Roof
We shared a roof, a table, the same four walls,
and still I lived on the far side of a door
no one had thought to knock on.
Their voices filled the house each morning,
familiar as the kettle, the taps, the stairs,
and none of it ever reached me.
I was in the room. I was not seen.
You can stand in a doorway for years
and be furniture to the people you love.
They were meant to be the ones who knew me
before I knew myself,
who could read the weather in my face.
Instead I learned to fold my heart small,
to keep it in a pocket
where no one would ask what it weighed.
I have grieved the things that happened.
That grief has edges. It has names and dates.
The other grief has none.
It is the hush where the conversation should have been,
the hand that never reached across,
the people I sat beside for years
and never met.
I was not only mourning what was done to me.
I was mourning the child who kept waiting to be known,
and the closeness
that never had its chance to exist.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.