Twin seams cross the skin,
Threaded paths where
smiles once lived,
Mending what was torn.
Tonight the page waits,
white as a held breath,
quiet as a question I’m afraid to ask.
I whisper into the hush~
oh muse, oh muse, where art thou, my elusive muse?
the room answers only with its own stillness.
Yet something stirs~
a spark at the edge of thought,
soft footfalls in the forest of the mind,
a flicker of insight slipping between ribs
like a secret trying to be born.
So I sit,
hands open,
heart ajar,
listening for the whisper
that always arrives late~
but always arrives.
And when it does,
I breathe it in~
the small miracle of being found
by what I was seeking.
The library in the woods cannot be seen by all
You have to be looking, and you cannot be so tall
It is down in the crook of a sycamore tree’s edge
Under a blackberry bush, inside a wall of a hedge
But it looks big in the photo, argued the biting red ant
Because it has been magnified by a hundred said all-knowing plant
The library in the woods has stayed a secret from most.
Hidden away by a large bullfrog, who serves as her host.
Determine who
the crime will profit
and you will find
your man
Fortune baits
perdition’s wolf
with larceny
in hand
Behind this world’s
ill-gotten gains
and lurking
deep within
There hides the culprit
long surmised
who wears the mark
— of sin
(Dreamsleep: January, 2026)
When I stopped
taking Sertraline
again,
I felt too much
all at once
including
a cacophony
of anxiety
I hate to acknowledge
that even I
need a little help
to get by
I didn’t choose my mind
in the lottery of life
I decide what I put
In my body,
everyday
grapefruit juice
for health,
avocados
because
I love
their shade
of green,
and meat
because
I crave
meat
what I choose
to put in my mouth
directly affects
everything
all my little,
daily outcomes
don’t seduce me
as much as you,
sexy Devil
little pills can do so much
I don’t want
to tap dance with the Devil
when I should be sleeping
Clouds flow by my Moon,
And my love leaves far too soon
Why now hide her face?
Denying me such a boon.
Rain weeps from heaven,
The lines of my tears to trace,
Still hearing Moon's call
I hate reaction so base.
The rain continues to fall,
Obscuring my all.
Where has my lovely Moon gone?
Face lost to skies' pall.
I look to my Moon's next dawn:
Yet again here to fawn...
Shuffling off this lucid coil,
reminding, a yawn.
this is for the "Constance La France 2026-01-15 Write A Beautiful Rubaiyat Poem" contest
The man who hides no secrets
doesn’t whisper in corners
or polish his lies
before handing them out.
He drinks his coffee black,
says what he thinks,
and doesn’t care if the room goes quiet
after the words land.
People lean in when he talks.
Not because he’s loud,
but because he’s real.
Because there’s no performance.
No costume.
No carefully rehearsed bull crap.
His opinions are respected
because they come from scars,
from nights on dirty mattresses,
from watching friends disappear,
from surviving things that would fold
most men in half.
He doesn’t pretend to be wise.
He just tells the truth
and lets it stand there naked.
Some here hate him for it.
Some here fear him.
But everyone here listens.
Because in a world choking on lies,
an honest man
sounds like thunder.
The sun sets
like a solo performer
Her soft gaze
Captivates the audience
She never had to rehearse
She's done this before
Knows the script like the back of her hand
The silent director
leads his final scene—
The starlet takes her bow
She kisses the ground
All her color leaves
As the ending nears
The earth stands still
She hides backstage
Never hearing her applause
What My Smile Hides
See the blood in my hands
Think the wounds that he has
I try this path to avoid
Guess all that hate n anger filled the void
For look a volcano my temper explode
I'm behind bars of pain and regret
Yet my heart and soul fight to forget
For all this is happening in my head
Father I didn't harm a person's life
For you told me not to fight
And letting them go I'll strive
Now look I can't bring my hands to strike
Lord would you forgive
A heart and soul filled with bees
Ready to sting and kill
Yet my mind with that, can't deal
Father Your love is what I learnt to feel
While forging my sword for my enemies
I repent for the sins that will be committed
I hope You understand
They will face my justice and will be judged
By Little One
the remote to our TV disappeared last night
my husband and I checked both sides of our chairs
the table, a shelf, the floor, a shoe, the garbage can
My husband asked “do you think Beau has it?”
“Not a chance,” I told him “we would hear him chewing it”.
We turned on the lights and tore the living room apart.
Moved the couch and both recliners.
Put our hands down the recliners three or four more times.
“Your mom’s birthday is tomorrow,” I said “do you think it is her saying hello?”
His mother has been gone twenty years, but this felt like spirit playing tricks.
We already lost one remote to this machine and it was never found.
I will not be surprised if it is sitting here next to our chairs tomorrow.
I was wrong.
It was sitting on the chair in the morning.
I was beaten in school
for speaking Themne
my own tongue
a melody they called a wrong note.
I ran to my father for comfort
but he looked away
called me foolish
for not knowing the world had changed.
I knelt beneath the old tree
offering thanks for rain and harvest
they said I was lost
praying to shadows and myths.
I wore my lion skin with pride
feet firm in Crocs-hide sandals
they mocked my walk
said I was wild, uncivilized.
But what truly is civilization?
Is it silencing my mother’s voice?
Replacing gods with shame?
Or disguising erasure as progress?
Written: June 21, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Mark Toney
Checked by HMS.COM / 10-6-7-7
***********
There is a place where my feet—often stray
Not sought, but swept retreat.
Beyond the known—cold, complete—
Truth hides in peace, soft and fleet!
We laugh loud so no one hears the sobs in our silence.
We dance like freedom lives in us,
When sometimes we feel like prisoners of our own mind.
We post smiles, quotes, and fire emojis,
While hiding battles we’re too tired to explain.
We show the highlight reel—
But the bloopers hurt more than the world knows.
I’ve seen bright eyes dim behind the scenes,
Hearts that scream while saying “I’m okay.”
And I’ve been one of them.
Happiness hides in the shadows of pain,
In the jokes told just to keep from crying,
In the "I’m good" sent at 3am with tired thumbs
And trembling hearts.
So if you see someone glowing,
Don’t assume they’re fine.
Sometimes the brightest souls
Burn the fastest just to shine.
Be kind. Be present. Be real.
Because what happiness hides
Is often the very thing
That needs healing the most.
In the nights when sleep hides among shadows and broken dreams,
The night wind becomes a caress of cold stars on my skin,
It penetrates deep into my lungs, like a crystal serpent of silence,
And I wonder, with longing that sings silence in echoes of lost time,
When was the last time I felt the thrill of undefined beauty,
That melts like a dream in the morning light, a whisper at dawn?
On those days, I close the window, the temple of cold freezes my bones,
Wraps my soul in a mantle of shivers, a sanctuary of ice.
And I wonder, with pain like a silent cry in the night’s stillness,
How long will this sensation last, nesting in the marrow of dreams,
A solitary bird in a nest of shadows, a mysterious burden,
It’s a melancholy flowing through the veins of time, a river of silver.
It winds through the cliffs of my soul, carried by waves,
A traveler on a sea of stars and shadows, in search of solace,
That spreads with the dawn, when light embraces the world,
And silence pours over us, like a forgotten song.
She whispered to me, "I hope you suffer well."
God heard her words, and he smiled,
for if suffering is what she wanted for me,
her hopes would soon be smothered in hell.
To give my best to those I loved,
It meant walking away to save a life,
when an evil person who wore a mask,
threatened to me to take their lives.
This very thing it happened to me,
no one knew or could they see,
their lives would be threatened If I told,
about the evil things that I saw unfold.
I made a choice and told it all,
a mask wearer amongst them still walks,
I'm happy to say I will never regret,
In an eight by ten room is where it rots.
The day will soon come when I've gone,
the mask wearers mask will slip with smiles,
but it'll be too late for I will tell,
though I'll never hope for all to "suffer well."
Evilness can hide inside those we know,
they hide it well with lies they tell,
they claim their the victim by tears they show,
whilst scheming with a devil who sleeps in a cell.
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.