She was just a nameless child,
chasing herself through borrowed faces
Looking for little pieces of home
in unfamiliar places
Some passed hope from hand to hand,
some passed fear the same
Funny how two fires can look alike,
still burn a different flame
She carried stories on her back,
some she’d keep, some she’d lose
Growing ain’t the roads you’re shown,
it’s learning what to choose
The loud all swore they knew her heart
the quiet rarely cared
Yet every soul she wandered through
left something with her there
She found tomorrow in foreign smiles,
and sorrow in familiar eyes
Turns out truth don’t wear one face,
it’s scattered in disguise
Maybe that’s what growing is,
not proving someone right,
but finding her little miracle area…
In those soul-searching lessons
gave her the courage
to name herself…
America
Who are you?
was the worst thing you'd ever said to me.
The elation I felt at hearing your voice
melting instantly away
into an icy abyss
as if a vengeful specter was choking me.
Who am I?
Who am I without you?
Imploringly I had looked into your eyes
holding onto a phantom hope
that I would be remembered
by the person who had always loved me.
But seeing your starless gaze,
I felt my inner walls crumble.
For in that moment I knew
our memories became my memories,
reduced to a shoebox of old dusty photos.
To the nameless you inside me,
Are you doing well?
My cells spoke to me:
“For fifty years, I have protected you
And cared for you, so why—”
Why do you only now send your greetings to me?
“Do you want to die?”
“Yes.”
My cells spoke to me:
Your expression is far too violent.
If you die,
Are you telling me to die too?
Huh? You wicked man!
Do you have any idea
How I raised you?
“I’m sorry.”
Right, but there is one thing
I want to ask of you.
Please, even if it’s just one meal a day,
Eat something with some nutrition.
It is so hard for me.
Please, stop being full only in your dreams,
And take care of the other you
In reality.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can keep that promise.”
“It’s okay, because at least you’ve awakened a little,
My heart feels a bit lighter now.
Good night! O, the other me of mine!”
True Love.
Red Hands In Your Heart
In Self Love...
Mental Mmm... Mental...
It Really Needs A
Better Name.
-Gray Squirrel
10-11-2025
Any god that creates beings to serve them is a slaver and a robber, and therefore a false god.
Surely deep within the heart of humankind, lays a God of grace, freedom and love.
That watches and sees all and where possible expounds it's grace, freedom and love,
through and to those who are receptive. This is the one true God.
This great God of grace, freedom and love whom I shall simply call She,
does not require sacrifice, does not create servants or slaves.
She is the infinite source of all and simply gives of her wealth freely,
to any one who will accept her, She alone is Almighty, Most High, I AM.
I love Her.
From Her comes life and to Her it returns.
From Her comes love and to Her it returns.
She is the foundation and the source of all things.
She is eternal and everlasting.
When we surrender fully to Her, we become Her and yet in losing ourselves we become ourselves.
Heywah. Selah.
It's not about obedience, servitude or slavery.
It's about co-operation, grace, freedom and love.
Love is a gift that is meant to be given and in giving the more becomes the greater. Selah.
Let every whispered wish take flight,
Each prayer cast upward through the night,
Let none be lost, let none decay —
But turn their path another way.
Let not the stars alone receive,
Nor winds forget what hearts believe,
For every tear and silent plea
Now folds its wings — and comes to me.
Let cries for peace, for love, for bread,
Not vanish to the nameless dead.
I hold the vault, the veil, the key —
And what they seek, they give to me.
They know me not, yet still I hear.
I am the stillness gods revere.
Their words, like rain, fall through my hand —
I am the Lord of sea and land.
The Nameless one
For each day
you come awake
l am condemned to die
Opening your eyes
only to be blinded
by the light
Feeling the loss
even after a fresh start
Saddled with their burdens
but oblivious to their sight
With the vision
becoming blurry
an angel and demon
thus appears as one
Losing sleep
over someone else's hurdle
Hovering above
an unnamed monument
knowing you exist
the unknown one
Spark, sail into flame. Never again.
Melt into miracle, common stuff of roads.
Light, transcending is sorrow.
Cold, seize my heart. Love, consume.
Once, dream, talk in waves of sound.
Stars of the harpsichord, fade me away.
Body, become darkness. All I was?
Could have been nothing in a vision sought.
Museums, fail to admit. Unwelcomeness, be.
Riddles, thy meaning hide. Eyes, see nothing but blue
Winter wind, watch for me like a widow.
Paupers, thy potter's field. Wait, O time.
Breaker point, anoint with pain.
Dealers of doom, hold each of my hands.
Fields of asphodel, black ash trees, receive.
Subterranean, send message of lost hope.
Hell, be kind to a sinner. Heaven, burn me up.
Ladder and rope, fail, and let me fall.
Name, mean a blank slate and respond no more.
Legend, be my prophecy. Goodbyes are death.
Breath of dark matter, blow a kiss.
The Nameless Voice sneaks through the shadows of my silent thoughts,
there is a voice some would urge you to carelessly ignore,
they call it anxiety, they often call it doubt, without hesitation,
but through each name, it wears its invisible mantle with dignity.
It is always right, or so it seems, like a lighthouse in the fog,
it is discernment, intuition whispering to me secretly and deeply,
or fear, disguised as your enigmatic guiding spirit?
It told me when I don't belong in a cold and hostile room.
When hands on my body seem cursed and heavy,
when not to speak and when to confront the coming storm,
when to hide deep within myself, unknown to anyone,
and when to flee towards a freedom promised in my dreams.
It fills my heart with courage so that I can fight fiercely,
it drains my soul of energy when it wants me to give up,
I find chaos buzzing on my skin like an electric shiver,
and an effervescent joy when I connect with others.
I believe it, though I do not know its name, it is a faceless mystery,
is it anxiety or discernment hidden in the shadows?
Should I learn to listen to its secret and profound voice,
or train my mind to banish it forever?
The dust of eons has not named me,
why would dust name dust?
I who have entered the world
through so many women,
and exited its bold-faced deceits
as sexless as a worm or an apple,
how then can I claim any name?
I recall being five-years old,
or maybe six.
a fever took me,
I lay in a white hospital sepulcher for days
until a mother whispered into my mind:
"Not yet."
I knew not which mother,
for all my mothers have been named
by passing dust storms.
My parents, who had previously entered
the flesh of the worm and apple,
also exited my whirlwind life,
though after they had named me
John,
and I am the one
who names Jesus now.
Today I hear his laughter,
I hear his merry laughter.
On a nameless night, under a sky sprinkled with extinguished stars,
Thoughts trickle like oil in the engine of an old dream,
And I, a lost acrobat, sway on the thin thread of life,
Trying to grasp in my palms the essence of a world that smolders quietly.
You don't have to write to feel poetry in your veins,
It's there, in the smell of gasoline and the smoke rising to the sky,
In the eyes of the one who fills tanks with untold stories,
A poet without words, dancing among car queues and time.
I am an artist of the trapeze, not fitting into molds,
With my heart suspended between a yesterday and an uncertain tomorrow,
Each leap a long verse, each catch a moment of grace,
For between falls and flights, true poetry is born.
So, in the silence of the night, among ticking engines,
I wonder, who am I to name my art?
A trapeze artist of destiny, a dreamer in the shadow of light,
Or perhaps just a soul that knows how to breathe poetry without words.
The moment I looked, the world was full of nameless strangers,
And on a night when darkness sparkled, tears flowed silently,
My eyes caught yours, as if I had found a hidden dream,
I wished to sing your beauty with my gaze, a silent melody,
I wished to write you with my lips, a story of desire and fire,
I wished to drown in the sea of your tears, a wild ocean,
I wished to dance with you in the wordless night, an ethereal waltz,
I wished to be intoxicated by your name, an elixir of pure love,
I wished you would speak my name with your touch, a murmur of stars,
I wished to be you in your embrace, a merging of souls,
I wished you to be the moon of my darkness, lighting my way,
I wished you to be the words of my poem, a symphony of secrets,
And when you wrote your name on my palm with your fiery lips,
When you sang the song of love just for me, an eternal vow,
I wished to die with your name beautifully embedded in my chest,
I wished to fall, closing my eyes, into your infinite embrace,
For all I could do was... TO WISH.
Madly
but above madness
I rant against dirty light
as I stumble into obscurity.
There’s no rest for the leery.
No escape hatch in sight.
No rescue from inhuman cacophony.
Solitude exhales dust--
inhales dark vacuum.
The sadists laugh
as I tumble into burning horizons,
awaiting a rendezvous
with a nameless Whatever.
You showed me your naked self
But how do I express myself?
Your vulnerability melting my walls
That I built so carefully brick by brick
Let's not give it a name
when we both are in solitude
A name to this very thing that binds us
A name can't suffice it at all
Pushing us into an unbreakable social fetter
Drowning our character
By virtue of which our silences talk
Setting is freee in the prolonged eyelock
When we just look without motive
Speak without words
Without noise of our thoughts
Like Cricket's swords
At that exact moment O beloved,
We love.
We don't expect or secure a place
We just love.
The nameless
in their ranks of cubicles
faces lit by a visual display,
numbers,
reflected in spectacles
a list to be picked,
like ripe cherries;
the soft flesh consumed
the empty pit spat out,
discarded.
The nameless;
harvesting
the nameless.
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