The borders fell like fever from a long-tormented frame,
No steel was turned, no legions marched, no decree spoke their name.
For when the node of silver wood began its quiet rise,
The phantom lines of sovereign pride dissolved before their eyes.
The ancient ghosts of territory, of fortress, and of crest,
Like winter frost before the sun, sank deep into the breast.
The pain that once had armed the hand and built the concrete wall
Was opened to the anchor node, unmetered, shared by all.
A mother’s cry in Sector One, the drought of Sector Four,
No longer stopped at checkpoints or the barricaded door.
The collective mind, in empathy, received the bitter sting,
And wove the ache of centuries into a single string.
Where once the barbed dividers stood to guard the hollow grain,
Now surged a tide of healing hands to wash away the stain.
The map of old Vaeloria, where blood-bought nations bled,
Became a tapestry of care, by quiet mercy fed.
No citizen was left an island, stranded in their grief;
The shared scar of the species brought its ultimate relief.
Beyond the holy light
Of the great god Empathy now enshrined
There is its daily due
In offerings of flesh and blood.
What was once simply a way to relate to others
A way to feel and understand
The pack and herd,
Has become instead a way to sacrifice.
A way to show in extreme
How good we are, how faithful,
How willing to take up the suicidal vest
To offer our unworthy selves to vague humanity.
(9/6/26)
In a world increasingly reduced
To postures of virtue signaling
It’s easy to side with the vocal majority
Crying real tears, gnashing whitened teeth.
But despite the emotional appeal
Of whatever we’re confirmationally biased towards,
Real issues exist in real time
Needing to be judged on real pros and cons.
History after all doesn’t exactly repeat itself
As much as spiral around a central core
Of habitual patterns
And stubbornly persistent delusions.
The next time you feel
The tug of collective empathy pull
Don’t just look at the banner
Look at the hand that holds it too.
(9/4/25)
Social guillotine
By Dustin Branum
9/03/26
Acceptance is dire,
I let this be known.
My only desire
was to feel I belong.
The empty will devour
everything I own.
Knowledge acquired,
the tongue is unknown.
Interpreter required
to speak the untold.
Silence gets louder,
the darkness gets brighter.
My Destiny expired,
no longer headstrong.
All hope is gone,
decaying empire.
No king for the throne,
no skull for the crown,
no cheers from the crowd.
No acceptance required,
no longer desire
your approvable satire.
Chronicles of the revolving door
By Dustin Branum
When exactly does life begin? When will this
tragedy come to an end? It's like over, and over,
and over again... When will I ever find peace,
my friend? And nobody knows how far I've
been; Nobody cares about the pain
I'm in. This knowledge that
burns deep within, with
a withering soul,
reality will
bend.
The
light
turns dark
with a grayish
blend, begging for
mercy, it's demons they
send. The light is illusion I
can no longer depend—There's no
Destiny for me to defend. Yearning for
happy, acceptance, and Zen, Instead of this
anger and evil times ten. No kids, no wife, no
next of kin; Lonely and broken, this chapter will end...
Exactly where the it began.
Empathy
By Dustin Branum
So, keep up with me:
In order for one to give a f**k
one must have a f**k to give.
So, one must’ve got f**ked
to have a f**k to give.
Someone had to get f**ked
for the rest of us to give a f**k.
If it wasn’t for the first f**ker that got f**ked—
the one f**ker that actually gave enough f**k
to take a f**k, to have a f**k to give.
Everything we know of all existence
evolves around a f**k-show of empathy.
If it wasn’t for one that gave a f**k enough
to have empathy,
thus born: i-human.
Getting f**ked to have a f**k to give
so we can all give a f**k together
Instead of being f**king f**ked.
So the question is, if you don’t give a f**k,
and if they don’t give a f**k,
and you don’t even give a f**k if they give a f**k...
Then who the f**k gives a f**k?
Well, I do.
Ism isn't right, it's spite which stems from deep emotion
Welling up within the soul when we confront the notion
That someone somewhere is receiving what we think is ours
Bestowed on us from somewhere we think's written in the stars
I feel for each door that suffers a knock
and every smelly, foot-covering sock;
but these are things I must abide
as I stand against life's cruel tide.
In this selfish world so cold,
A beacon of light guides the way -
Its compassion’s touch, a hand to hold,
And guide and brighten the day.
With gentle words and deeds of grace,
Compassion heals the wounds others bear.
It sees beyond the mask upon the face,
Showing that someone truly does care!
In empathy and kindness, one will find,
A bond that connects us heart to heart -
Lifting us up with words so kind,
Helping us to navigate life’s art!
Oh, compassion is a gift so fond and true,
A gentle soothing light that sees us through!
Copyright © 2019 by Crystal David John
(Published in my book titled 'Trails of Thought,' which is available on Amazon)
Be the wind in someone’s sail,
be the calm in someone’s gale,
be the spark today,
in someone’s dark day.
Be the joy that’s found,
turning another’s day around.
Be the hope in someone’s gloom,
The sunshine - helping flowers bloom.
Be the light in someone’s night,
and their breastplate in a fight,
and your kindness, always share
in what you do, and how you care.
Be the reason to make them smile,
even if it is for a little while.
In a world that is so tough,
with a whole lot of toxic stuff -
be the balm - soothing the strife
in someone’s stress filled life!
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
I lost my voice, it wasn't my choice
Friends said, "I'll keep an eye out."
Like it's their favorite joke
And I laughed right along with 'em
But it made me think, just for a moment
This must be what it's like
To be born without one
What must it be like
To be born without one
Without a voice, in a noisy world
Where the quiet ones are just ignored
And the loudest ones get all the glory
What must it be like to have no voice
In this world
I have a friend who teaches ASL
To people who couldn't hear it
If a freight train sat down right beside them
And I thought, "How lonely it must feel
To never hear the joke
'Specially when it's on you
My voice'll come back in a day or two
I'll miss it and sharing my point of view
But my friends have heard it
They're happy for the break
And when it's back
I should be a little more eager
To share the voice I have
With someone who has none
To raise the voice I have
For someone who doesn't sound like me
Maybe I could lend an ear, to one whose greatest fear
Is being left out of the conversation
Missing sorrow and elation
Of inclusion and belonging
Someone who's been longing
To belong
I put my arms around you, your heart melts into mine;
the borders of your anguish I can easily define.
There is no need for language explaining agony,
I perceive a griever’s heartache in black telepathy.
Your landscape is familiar, I know one similar
in the trackless barren places, in the lonely city spaces
where people neither know nor care.
I gleaned shriveled fruit from withered vines,
crushed, distilled, and drank the acrid wine.
I climbed the treeless summit, trekked the tundra of despair,
heard the mountain winds dark harmony
to a mourning mother’s keening prayer.
I know because my heart has heard
within its depths your soundless words.
Copyright, July 11, 2026
Line of inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” Unseeking Seeker
_______________________
Purity is dissolution complete
subsequent to passing every octave
spirit within spirit resting blissed sweet
peaceable compassion but concoctive
Through life's craving roses or fearful thorns
empathy, forgiveness remain a must
to tread challenging course blithe or forlorn
fortitude points luminary bow just
Above us arc stretches calling our name
irrepressibly chaste serene its zest
sorrows, anxiety, goals mere mind games
transcendent patient is Beloved’s nest
Reverent spirit willing with reason
travels curve in own orchestral season ~
________________________________
5th Placement : Premier Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
May ‘26
There is a grief that whispers, not a cry,
A subtle ache beneath a practiced eye.
It does not shatter, bleed, or loudly break,
But shifts the self in every small mistake.
We honor storms that split the sky in two,
Yet miss the quiet fractures passing through—
A pause too long, a smile held too tight,
A dimming edge we overlook in light.
For wounds may bloom in silence, slow and thin,
A hidden crack that deepens from within.
No witness stands, no sirens claim the night,
Just inward fading, out of mind and sight.
So tread with care in every passing face,
Each soul a ledger time cannot erase.
The deepest pain may never speak, nor show—
It softens first, and no one sees it grow.
The Trouble With
'Reading Your Minds'
Is That You're All
Suffering Needlessly...
Suffering Needlessly
****Obligatorily****
And Won’t Admit
You Won’t Take 'NO!'
For An Answer.
But, What Do I Know?
I Can't 'Read Your Minds'
Not Really, You Know...
The Way You Want.
*No Thanks.*
What Cruel Sympathy
Selfishness Is This Then?
To Not Share In
Suffering Needlessly?
*******
It's Not Really That
Kind Of Commitment:
***Communication.***
-Gray Squirrel
04-25-2026
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