The wind arrived quietly, conservatively,
meandering around my heart with soft words,
playing with tendrils of my being with soft caresses,
lulling my soul with gentle softness and light.
Summer stretched and wove a ribbon
through my emotions given freely and wantonly.
Sucking the possibilities deep within to nurture
a future of happy-scented days before me.
The storm arrived unexpectedly, viciously,
tearing and rending my being with no more caresses.
Now, cast outside the vortex that surrounds it,
my soft words unheard above the roaring noise.
A heart now bruised and silent, missing the mark,
veering wildly towards some unknown destination
in ever decreasing circles like leaves in autumn
as they fall silently from the lofty boughs above.
Quiet now, my soul still forming words in silence.
Never to be heard above the swirling mass roaring above.
Wishing for summer days to return with a soft kiss
or caring caress whispered to a heart once loved.
In the depths of consciousness, where thoughts flow quietly like the rivers of time,
an unnamed envelope waits, hidden in the shadow of unspoken destiny.
Whoever touches it first becomes the master of a silent curse, a burden that changes nothing,
for the fate that follows remains unwavering, arranging destinies in silence, without anything.
The sender knows this but will never speak, for the envelope keeps in its silence,
a secret so profound and deep that, if revealed, no one would dare to listen.
A truth hidden in thin paper, its power lies not in what it contains,
but in the choice to break the seal and face the fate it might reveal within itself.
Like an enigma wrapped in mystery, the envelope is a gateway to the unknown that appears,
where courage and fear meet and intertwine in a dance of uncertainty that disappears.
In the silence between heartbeats, the envelope whispers stories to those who dare to hear,
a melancholic dance of destiny waiting to be uncovered, but never fully revealed.
As the messages quietly sync, I feel the deepening absence of replies,
An abyss slowly swallowing the denial from a heart weary of waiting and longing,
My greatest fear, the unknown truth, now takes shape in the light of day,
Coming to claim its rights, a bitter fruit of uncertainty that can no longer be avoided.
I have always been ready to fight for every dream, to venture with an open and courageous soul,
But truths like these leave no room for lies, only a heavy and crushing silence,
A truth that penetrates deeply, dispelling illusions carefully woven with hope,
I can no longer dance around dreams as if they held fragments of light for me,
When everything falls apart, leaving only the shadows of a once-held hope, stirring memories,
I remain alone in the chamber of my consciousness, an endless flow of thoughts and emotions rolling,
Seeking balance between lost illusions and harsh truths, a dance of the soul in melancholy,
In a world where beginnings are born from the ruins of dreams, an endless search for light.
Some might say,
it's just another day
but the days so quickly pass
age marking time far too fast;
spring was a season of mixed messages
days of rain and dampened dew
full of old memories,
walking the garden with you,
then came the buds, the blossoms, and the bloom
life rushed on,
no regrets to exhume,
the gentler days of flowering and you;
in looking back
the early days moved slowly and steady
with struggles through laughter, tears, and joy thready
but you were there ever at the ready;
lost to the days of April into May
and I am still here tears as I pray,
my eyes on the stars
wondering what happened
and where you are.
Mother did not bake apple pies,
but she drank strong cider,
which baked her brains.
Dad had a sharp tongue,
he picked his teeth
with its forked tip.
We were a one child family,
there was a miscarriage.
I recall we butchered the stork.
Mother roasted it,
for us all
that Christmas.
Of Passing Cloud
- Roger White
Unaware of the world below, a wispy cloud suspended between Heaven and Earth
drifts westward against an azure sky…
…blithely
As if coaxed by an unseen presence or hastened by a gentle call,
reaches the setting sun of the western horizon…
…quietly
Awash in hues of gold, beautiful and radiant,
delicate tendrils touch the night’s first stars…
…gently
A wispy cloud escapes the bonds of Earth,
ascends into the embrace of Heaven…
…peacefully
I’m just quietly sitting watching
Through a younger man’s eyes.
You wouldn’t know if you looked
For my brain’s there in disguise.
It’s wearing the body of one
Who’s of a much greater age,
Trying to understand how
It arrived at this stage.
I’m my mind I’m much younger,
Twenty one or even twenty two,
But these days it’s not as easy
To do things I could once easily do.
My yesterday’s have outnumbered
The tomorrow’s there are to come,
But I’ve been so lucky I suppose,
I’ve lived much longer than some.
With old age there’s an acceptance,
Each breath is just one more on the way
To the completion of a journey that
Ends with that unavoidable dying day.
So, I’m sat here enjoying my coffee
As I’m watching the world go by
And I’ve made the adjustment to
See it through an older man’s eye.
I’ll be back here tomorrow
If that’s the way that it goes ,
It’s one of those thing in life
That nobody ever knows.
The sea is silvered by the moon,
its waves rustle the sand where I stand,
they speak in whispers to low for my ears
to hear.
Do they speak of you and where you are,
do they know if you are coming home or not?
The moon, the waves, the sand, absorb my tears
so quietly.
Sometimes.....we don’t have the right words to say goodbye ….
And all we know to do…. is quietly walk away.
Darrell
Penny
Pennies
Into pounds
Cost of living
Breaking down
Digging
Chipping
Gritty climb
I'll come out on top
I'll work
I'll grind
Sometimes short
But never without
Thirsty commitment
dampens this drought
Drip by drip
Collect the flow
Cup almost full
But don't let them know .
The mind is a traveller,
on an earnest quest apart,
link road to the innermost,
signpost for bold hunch,
meaning is a hazy sky,
lay-by as mere pause,
quietly we trudge in tight bands,
but never wonder why?
time doesn’t play that well,
showing few if any paths,
language can be strained,
notions, slants, angles, terms,
tangled oxymoron at risk,
stifling broad consensus,
world weary air a plague,
night shift, day shift,
life belt for the toiler,
spoken in camp phrases,
that spur to vocal fringe,
who might alter vacuums,
now passively endured
Gently her eyes embraces me
He his sight touches me
Ever so gentle she stares at me
She her lips speak life
His hands touches fingers run down her hair
Quietly she encounters me---
11/26/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2023
Quietly whispered
Receiving silent
Emotions kept
Laughing yet
Without voices
Just shown teeth
Thus a funny, the silent poem speaks
QUIETLY WHISPERED THE SILENT POEM
SPEAKS AS HE READS A BOOK
THE PEOPLE LAUGH AND LOOK
7/13/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Quietly true beholden this day I speak life peace joy and love unto you Dear One
07/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
. for public domain
She felt dry inside,
past the time of blooms,
a lost petal pressed between lost pages
of a dusty book, stored among relics
in abandoned rooms.
Yet quietly nearby,
Hope, not with a boast,
trumpeting a victorious symphony
of vain promises of a life renewed,
hovered like a ghost.
She smiled wistfully,
"Love may come once more,
from someone who needs a hug, or kind word,
or just a friendly glance, as long as I
leave open my door."
“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest.
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”
- Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
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