Gone but not forgotten
The people that died
Of Aids
Gone but not forgotten
The homeless
That have died of frostbite
Gone but not forgotten
The whales that the poachers
Poached
Gone but not forgotten
The soldiers that had
Died in the war over seas
A pair we were once
but fate went its own way
now we remain in letters
Christ wept real tears
for us all, for you and me.
We have forgotten
the true meaning of prayer
and the joy that prayer brings.
Gone but not forgotten
The people that died
Of Aids
Gone but not forgotten
The homeless
That have died of frostbite
Gone but not forgotten
The whales that the poachers
Poached
Gone but not forgotten
The soldiers that had
Died in the war over seas
I won’t forget you
I swear
The first thing they say when we leave this earth
As we feel the stomps of their footsteps
Leave the side of our grave
Echoes of cries that soon fade away
Laying alone in darkness
A void
Nothingness
Waiting to be judged
The memories
The times
The joy
Start to flash before our eyes as we try to control them
They sleep and remember our passing
But soon smile along the line
For their lives are still to be lived
Being in the grave is being forgotten
Being dead is being history
To just feel like a past memory
Death takes our existence socially
Death degrades us
And makes us nobody
Thy begin to go back on their word
Forgetting us
Our passing
Our existence
Our memories
As we still lay there
Dark, empty, void
Death makes us history
Death makes us forgotten
The Forgotten Leaf
From autumn's aged bough I took my flight,
Through woodland streams where whispered waters gleam;
I sought fair spring beyond the grasp of night,
Yet none would pause to share my silent dream.
The birds and winds became my faithful guide,
Through frost and bloom, through summer's golden fire;
Still every passing soul unseen would glide,
Nor lift my name from sorrow's darkened mire.
A lily asked, "Why grievest thou alone?"
I sighed, "My heart's a haunted palace still;
Where joy once reigned, cold silence claims the throne,
And empty halls obey forgotten will."
The world saw waste where one young child found art;
Thus lost leaves live forever in one heart.
In a drawer of quiet things, a lone brass key keeps dreaming of doors.
It remembers the weight of turning, the soft click of entering a life.
Now it hums in the dark—unlock me, it whispers—I still know the way.
The sorrow of those wandering clouds is a beautiful poem,
And your futile halt along the way is nothingness.
Your hand’s gesture is an unknowable confession,
And within civilization, your shadow is the light.
The cup that weeps, left all alone,
Is your dream.
The joy that follows behind laughter
Is your tree of solitude.
Your confession, cast beneath that starlight,
Is the fluttering butterfly of a life in the mire.
Your unfulfilled return, flying far and wide,
Is a pain that belongs to you alone.
Your unresolved grief that will not die, even in death,
Is yet another beginning for you.
- The End -
forgotten
she was tragedy
and nefarious
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 13–19, 2026)
The Price of a Mother
They warned me of sleepless nights,
tiny shoes and lullabies.
No one warned me hearts grow taller,
or that silence echoes louder.
Not death...
That grief is honest.
This is loving someone
who simply chooses
not to come home.
Another headache.
Another flu.
Another promise
that falls through.
How strange the sickest days
always seem
to arrive
when they involve you.
I gave you everything—
my youth,
my strength,
my dreams.
I filled your life
while emptying mine.
I taught you kindness,
grace,
humility.
Somewhere along the climb,
you forgot
the hands that lifted you.
Now I'm
"not your kind of people."
Funny...
I used to be
your whole world.
Motherhood is a bargain
only a mother would make—
giving away pieces of herself
to raise someone
who may never notice
what's missing.
Maybe one day
you'll understand.
Maybe one day
you'll hear my silence
the way I hear yours.
But by then...
"I'm sorry"
won't bring back
missed birthdays,
empty chairs,
or borrowed time.
Because the saddest truth
I've ever learned is this—
"I'm sorry"
doesn't rhyme
with anything.
FORGOTTEN SHAPES
immovable
unpredictable
immaculately
&elusive
masked
anomalies
precarious
spectacles
muted
&undeniable
unending
endures
&replicates
capable
of
connections
becoming
attractive
imagery
sans
precedents
encountering
managed
imagery
attributing
to
synonymous
elegance
of
visual
visible
prosaic
expectations
&
possibilities
It’s the simplest question with the most complex answer
If I asked I wouldn’t want to know the truth
I wouldn’t even want to know why
I can play this game of ignorance
…Correction…I could live it
I could sit back and push you to the back of my mind
I can manipulate myself into believing that you didn’t mean a thing
I can choose what I want to remember and hide you in the closet
Along with all my deepest fears
But one thing will always haunt me
It’s that fact that I meant nothing
That all my time was invested
Into someone who doesn’t even remember my name
Childhood promise - a pact by pinky swear,
Fast friendship - solemn pledge of pure intent.
Broken at times? Just predictable fare!
In playground terms an everyday event.
Then youth bursts on the world in hot pursuit
Of lasting life and love without an end.
Broken promise portends the absolute -
Betrayal leaving aching heart to mend.
Time heals the hurts of feckless youthful dreams,
Suppressed by wisdom’s wit and common sense.
Bygone promise subsumed - or so it seems,
Poignant echo persists still, in past tense.
I opened the old drawer, stories long ago hidden
beneath the dust, beyond the debris
A notebook full of eraser marks and hope
an unfinished page still waiting for me
what comes next, I thought as I glanced
poems written that now seem ancient to read
my fears, my wishes, my forgotten dreams
words that once danced with joy and ease
now quietly sitting in the shadow of time
some spoke of plans that don't fit who I am
some told stories of struggles and pain
others were celebrations somehow forgotten
I flipped through the pages
Poems unfinished, Ink slowly fading
A thought halfway started, but never complete
I grabbed my new pen with fire in my heart
When I started to write the glimmer in my eyes once dim
started to grow strong, stronger than it's ever been
Although unfinished verses may always remain
the pen and the paper are calling my name
I want to tell you I'm sorry,
I asked God for direction.
We are the same you and I,
Our summer meeting was a hazardous timing.
No reason it can't be reversed to begin,
At the beginning again, it's almost the end.
So cruel we have suffered and blamed each other,
It's a pity that doesn't need a party just a chance to forgive one another.
In closing I will say,
We were trying to put our heads together,
To bring justice for another.
We were untrusting of life itself,
We didn't trust anyone, with good reason.
I made mistakes, so did you, we are human and it just wasn't our season.
Amen.
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