Success can be won by
Talent and timing, or sheer presumption,
But Righteousness is acquired in the
Unseen range of options
Where no bravos exist.
The world may recognize the
One who rises,
Yet virtue belongs to the one
Who refuses to rise by stepping
On anyone else.
Success proves you reached
The top.
It never proves you deserved the climb
Sometimes I fall deep down.
I'm in a hole,
You're looking in.
Climb out you say.
Silly boy,
One does not simply climb out.
There are paths I must take,
Lessons I must learn,
Thoughts I must think,
Before I get out.
A story has got various sides
The unfolding of tombstones
Forgotten bones
A story has got various angles
The revelation of a lie
Shortest memory
It has got wings.
Every day hurts a little more,
Feels like I'm sleeping on a concrete floor.
Every day I feel worse,
Wear my body like a curse.
My energy drained by years of pain,
Every moment lost came with no gain.
So many passions set aside,
So many dreams I learned to hide.
And every day that I look back,
I see the widening of every crack.
A stolen childhood wrapped in shame,
My heart learned how to bear the blame.
A command to smile when I was ill,
But they never let me eat my fill.
Everyone else had needs to be met,
And they haven't even considered mine yet.
Every breath fills my lungs with a fire
That can never match my heart's desire.
Every beat of that treacherous heart
Taught me how to play their part.
Every step I will ever take,
They never thought I had the strength to make.
Yet every day that I awake,
I see again how much it can take.
So here I seek solace among the trees,
No judgement in the gentle breeze.
Here I'll sit and silently weep
For all I've lost and could not keep.
Reinforced Cement concrete
With an Iron lady
Even though
Stirrup
Even though
lintel
blinded
Pitfall
The curry staid " (qawwamuna)"
And we eavesdropped
Not to the ecstasy
(“not the wrongdoers and not the astray”)"
Gossip is junkfood-
Cheap talk dressed up like a
Meal,
Served by people who stay
And seasoning them
Hungry
For somebody else's
Downfall.
It hits quicks
Salty,
Messy,
Leaves the tongue filled
In things you can't swallow
Back
People snack on rumors
Like chips in a defective
Bowl,
Crunching half-truths
And seasoning them-
With their own self-doubt.
They pass around
Somebody's pain
Like hors d'oeuvres
At a party they weren't invited to.
But I spit fire now-
Clean fire,
Classy fire,
The kind that burns off
Nonsense
Without lowering itself
To their level.
I don't eat lies
I don't serve them.
I don't sit at tables
Where truth is elective.
Gossip is junkfood-
All flavor, no value,
All noise, no weight
Truth though...
Truth is a plated dish,
Made slow,
Made with hands
That know precisely
Who they 're feeding.
Yet another quote on the internet that i read
"If the person you love the most puts a gun to your head, what would be your last words?"
"It's okay, it's not your first time" I'd say
The sword you've twisted in me, again and again
My flesh healed long before, but it remembers the wounds it held
Your twisted and beautiful smile faded out deep beneath the folds of your face
But this is your doing, isn't it?
"Don't worry, it's not my first demise from the hands i hold dear"
No tears left to fall, no scars to hide
I have succumbed to the darkness i once thought was the light
Yet another quote on the internet that i read
My heart pulled out of my chest
Am a mess of your worse intentions
And now, am just dead.
I plead,
Weigh not my heart,
With lil’ rest and help nought,
I plead again, weigh not, my heart.
Weigh not..
Isn’t it really what we become together?
Separating souls, not nearly the answer.
Feathers, free falling, caught in angelic sight.
Shall we try again? We don’t learn to fly
in our youth; before we die? Try
and try again to catch ourselves. The best
is yet to be. Can we help but steady?
Are we worth it? God certainly thinks so.
Sow those seeds of love, joy and peace.
They don’t come easy. We do get hurt.
But as we heal, aren’t we stronger? We fight
for our completeness. Don’t stop short.
A broken vase, not like Humpty Dumpty,
put together again. The crevices are
those golden years. Weren’t they all grand,
not in and of themselves, but for the shining
light in the halls of heaven. The Word
of God says that a three-stranded cord
is not easily broken, therefore The Most High
must not be omitted; we cannot fly on our own.
Written: September 21, 2026, Week's Poetry Challenge: The Last Word
I walk through silence, flame.
I breathe through sorrow, flame.
I trudge through sludge, flame.
I rise through ruin, flame.
I woo the void, flame.
I stall the scourge, flame.
I stipple the sky, flame.
I indite my hymnody, flame.
I christen the dawn, flame.
I herald horizons, flame.
I nictate through night, flame.
I transmogrify fear, flame.
I outshine the shadows, flame.
I outpace the silence, flame.
I outfly the distance, flame.
I end in endless, flame.
It begins long before the pen touches the page,
in the quiet habit of noticing what others miss:
the amber morning streaming
through slatted blinds,
the heron lifting up from golden water.
To live this way is not to speak in rhyme,
But to breathe, to watch,
To listen for the rhythm.
It is the tea kettle whistling its low hymn,
Flour dusted across the counter,
The deliberate pace of walking slow enough
To hear what silence carries when it leaves.
You learn that nothing is too small to keep:
A river rock worn smooth by tide,
The wild fire of an evening sky,
The grief you thought would crush you into dirt.
Writing is only the light you bring back.
The poem itself was the breathing,
The wide eyes, the steady pulse,
The courage to face the grain of living
And find in it
A reason to begin again.
Stay or you will die
Stay or I will die
Can you not see we give each other life?
Winter is near
The demons will need warmth
The squirrels say they spawn from hell
Perhaps that's why they cannot survive without our heat.
I digress,
If more of you leave, I'll be sure to standout
Have I ever mistreated you and your brethren
Do I disgust you so much that you'd choose death over my company?
Stay till summer, then you can leave
Quiet down,
I hear the demon's cackle
Stay or he'll take my life
He's got an axe, mayhaps he won't notice that I'm dry
Do not approach me you demon
Produce your own heat
Cut me down now but I shall live on
Who needs leaves?
My children have developed roots
I shall live on!
My Soul is Tired
Sometimes the darkness can swallow you whole to where there's no end in sight. The soul struggles and fights praying to be guided to what's right, but the darkness over comes and the soul becomes numb to all the pain and suffering you've witnessed throughout your life. Your soul reads like a novel every page engraved of your struggles. You often re-read those pages to make sense of it all praying the ending will bring fire to your soul. The pain, the suffering, the good and bad had penetrated your soul by all you've had. Your soul can only observe so much suffering before tiredness sets in and there is no light only darkness within. The soul must sleep and write the end of the novel of your life from beginning to end.
I remember I fell through that wooden floorboard.
I was careless where I stepped, and the weight of my mistake made me fall right through.
I remember the embarrassment I felt... it nearly broke my self-esteem.
I can hear them use their traitorous tongues.
I remember I walked carefully over those wooden floorboards.
I see their eyes glare and hear the whispers of people who judge me for treading so cautiously.
I am wary of what they are saying. ..of what they may think.
I walk confidently around that wooden floor.
I am aware of their judgements and their hateful glares.
I don't care what they think.
I no longer have to tread so carefully.
I can run free.
I remember...
Written: September 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
****************
Salt stings your tears, each glistening bead of sadness.
Your breathing finds its natural rhythm, as if found
beneath the grief, a pulse untouched by innocence.
I mistook your quiet for apathy, yet innocence
remained—a fragile flame beneath the weight of sadness,
a sporadic, sparkling smile of something you had found.
Lost friends, lost years, yet somehow you found
a grace that gathered up your scattered innocence,
and gently lifted you beyond your darker sadness.
Perhaps God found innocence within your sadness.
Endurance Categories
Definition | What is Endurance in Poetry?
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