Sorrow
On occasion I find the passing loss of something un-named
Something found and yet unbiddened
A some thing of the past or future or present I know not what
Yet sorrow it is
A feeling both sad and strange
it’s a bleak evening
wood crackles in the shabby hearth
sadness in my heart...
suddenly a forest sound –
for his doe longs lonely hart
She's a girl in a pretty veil.
She dresses herself in blossoms,
treasures those little daisies.
But I see her, soiled,
in a resplendent turmoil.
She's exultant
in a catastrophe.
I would clasp her hand
and run past this dismal truth.
But she has long kept me
her prisoner—
A deity,
one she'd never offer glory to.
She's a winner,
the vanquisher.
And yet all she ever flaunted
were her ruptures before me.
She lives her days in summer,
yet yearns for a long-lost winter.
She cherished daisies,
now she has only ever liked orchids,
the ones that bloom in blue.
She dons her pearl cloak,
yet ruins slip past her pearls.
She's vigorous
within a melancholy,
terrified it might perish.
—Ours, Beyond Sight—
If this be sin, then let me dwell therein,
a little longer, folded in thy breath;
Let no world's eye adjudge where we begin,
nor drag our hidden sacrament to death.
Come, wrap me as the wind enfolds the rose,
whose fragrance deepens where no witness breathes;
Till our two shadows mingle, and none knows
which of us first surrendered what sight sees.
Yet when the world commands that love be seen,
I shall not yield our silence to its sight;
For what we are exceeds what we have been
made visible beneath another's light.
Let others prove their loves by what they show;
We are the truth no witness can bestow.
within the woods
simple life lays dormant
hidden form the world
She looked alive, her eyes would gleam
But buried deep was every dream
A thousand nights, no one could hear,
Her pain would bleed through every seam
They saw her smile and called her strong,
But never knew her silent theme
They broke her soul behind closed doors,
Then left her floating in a stream
No bruises shown, no shattered glass,
Just quiet wars beneath the beam
The world moved on, her voice stayed trapped,
Inside her ribs, the deadly scheme
Silent Scream
The sky unzips its heavy coat,
And lets the hidden whispers
float.
A thousand secrets, locked in
gray,
Are spilling down to earth
today.
They pelt the roofs and slick
the street,
Confessions pooling at our
feet.
The thunder speaks in
rumbling tones,
Of ancient sins and buried
bones.
Each raindrop is a story told,
Of promises the wind
couldn't hold.
The dirt drinks up the liquid
lore,
And begs the heavy clouds
for more.
By dawn, the storm begins to
fade,
The sky forgets the vows it
made.
But every leaf and blade of
grass,
Now knows the truths that
came to pass.
what you give is what you keep
Masked
We are all sinners,
?Marked by quiet guilts
?We tuck beneath our ribs.?
The only difference is?
How sweetly we excuse ourselves?
While pointing trembling fingers
?At another broken soul.
We polish our halos,?
Pretend they gleam,?
Pretend we are untouched—
?Yet deep inside,?
A devil paces in the dark,
?A creature we refuse to name.
We call ourselves flawless?
Only because we lack the courage?
To kneel before our own truth.?
The light we claim to carry?Never reaches every corner—
?Some rooms stay locked,?
Dusty with silence,
?Heavy with the stench of what we hide.
And maybe it’s fear—
?Fear of the shadow lurking within,?
Fear of the chaos it could wake,?
Fear that one slip,?
One crack in our mask,?
Would let the darkness spill
?Until it drowns the last good in us.
What if it grows stronger??
What if we become the monster?
We only whispered about?
?What if one day?We cannot bear
?To look our reflection in the eye?
Hidden Love
I keep you in the space between two hearts.
Masquerading as a lette.r, I address so far
Not sent.
My tongue is a locked gate, my eyes, two thieves.
That steal a peep, then quickly decipher.
They call my name, and I acknowledge,
Even cool- a lake that never ripples in the wind.
But underneath, a current breaks its rule.
Each time you're unwary, laughter pulls me in.
So let the world see void but the shore- I'll
Submerge in you and ask for not but the shoreline-
I'll drown in you and ask for nothing more.
I have a pocket in my vest,
Where tiny treasures go to rest.
A shiny pebble from the
playground,
A button that I thought was
neat,
And one small feather from a
nest.
Hidden deep within the verses
Of what is and what was
Things are not what they appear to be
The forest is alive and things are hidden deep
Life grows and life moves
It breathes
Always just out of reach it seems
You see it, you dream it, but it feels out of your reach
The words elude me
Playing hide and seek
My poem feels like an earthworm
I dream it
But upon surfacing from my dream
It’s gone
I saw the words upon the page of my dream
Then as I wake they fade
Back into the dark, rich soil.
Let them burrow.
Let them feed the roots of what comes next.
For the forest does not truly lose what falls;
It only digests, re-shapes, and waits.
I will close my eyes again tonight,
Trust the blind crawling of the verse,
And wait for the loam to speak.
Beneath the sky’s watchful eye
the world takes place
Yet hidden, the rhythms
of the human race
Oceans vast, one like
another
In between beat the hearts
of fathers, of mothers
In the quiet of the crowd, you caught my eye,
a delicate silhouette against the night sky.
Your amber gaze was weary, deep, and dry,
bearing heavy truths you'd always deny.
Your paper skin was creased; folded pages where shadows lie.
I felt a sudden grief, and began to cry,
to see your hidden pain, no words could buy.
You offered up a smile, gentle and shy,
and it changed the landscape like a sunrise nigh -
lifting up the dark, without a sigh.
For brokenness is not the end, say I -
with the deepest grief, the gold will lie.
The rose showed one face to the world.
I believed that face for a long time.
What I could not grasp at first
was never harmless.
I saw only one side.
The rest escaped me.
It stayed hidden
until much later.
I trusted the rose enough to hold it.
The thorns seemed unimportant then.
But some wounds come quietly,
And leave a mark behind.
What started as a scratch
Became more than it appeared.
The wound was easy to hide,
But difficult to forget.
Tears came more often than before.
Some days brought it back.
I tried to move on,
But it stayed behind.
The rose still stands as it always has.
People still lingered near it.
No one sees what lies beneath,
Until it shows itself.
The thorn did not leave just one wound.
It returned more than once.
Each mark stayed a little longer,
and it lingered.
I noticed the flower first.
Little else caught my attention.
The rest came later,
By then… the thorn had done its work.
Not every rose is the same.
Some pain keeps the shape of where it started.
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