This poem was originally written for and submitted to Writer Monk's monthly poetry contest on social conscience August 1, 2026
Morning rose over two cities
that no longer knew their own names~
light too bright, silence too large,
that felt like the world forgetting how to breathe.
Shadows clung to walls where people once stood,
soft silhouettes of lives interrupted mid-gesture,
mid-dream.
The air carried a strange stillness,
as though time itself had bowed its head.
And yet from the scorched earth,
from the quiet ash,
from the trembling remnants of what had been~
a small, stubborn pulse began again.
Hands reached for hands; voices rose in prayer.
Memory gathered itself into a vow
that sorrow would not be forgotten,
and peace would not be postponed.
Even now, the sky remembers
the day humanity learned how fragile it can be.
A backwash of death and body's decay,
The soul—once dwelt within me—is no more.
In life-death script's passably long play,
I could not—I don't know why—reach the shore.
I lie naked now with many others,
Forgetting caste, colour, creed, polity;
Confronting all weather with no druthers,
Pushed towards a preset equality.
Isn't there, in my core, an inner strength?
There's a truth of perseverance of life;
There is, in me, an endless breadth and length
Of forgone pains of existential strife.
Am I the monarch of this breathless deep,
Or just a puppet death has put to sleep?
“To be or not to be”, was Hamlet‘s sole question.
We’ve a common conundrum, that’s my confession.
Burn bridges or mend fences, in my discretion…
I stand above them, pistol heavy in my hand.
They cringe before me, she’s sobbing and he’s unmanned.
My mind’s really roiling, though my expression’s bland…
She surely did me wrong, there’s truly no dispute,
In flagrante delicto, they cannot refute.
Leaves me such a dilemma, achingly acute…
The Lord tells us “Vengeance is mine, I will repay!”
Also “to forgive is divine” didn’t he say?
How is a mere mortal to decide the right way…
But wait! “Nature weeps”, a pathetic fallacy
As “either or” is just a false dichotomy
In reality both are merely sophistry…
Should I mend the fence? Overly optimistic.
Should I burn the bridge? Aptly apocalyptic.
There is another choice, neatly nihilistic…
My attention was caught, resolution was sought.
The decision was fraught, it’s a Gordian knot
Hamlet’s vexing question solved with a single shot…
New intent nicely teased, and tension slightly eased.
My mind now appeased, prior predicament ceased
With resolve swiftly pleased - the trigger slowly squeezed…
Alone I lie, upon this cold tile floor,
a humble sock, once twinned— now twinned no more.
O cruel Spin Cycle, thou relentless wheel,
that tossed me from my mate with heartless zeal.
Where is my partner now? Dost he yet roam
the shadowed caverns ‘neath the dryer’s chrome?
Once were we two, a pair in woven grace,
matching in stripe, in purpose, and in place.
Together did we warm the traveler’s tread,
together faced the hamper’s rising dread.
But now~
now I am but a single thread of fate,
a lonely wanderer seeking out my mate.
What foot shall claim me? What drawer grant me rest?
What mortal hand restore what kismet hath oppressed?
O merciful buyer, hear my muted plea:
take pity on this sock bereft, yet brave.
Lift me from this sorrowed laundry sea,
and grant me purpose past the dryer’s grave.
For though I stand alone, my fabric worn~
still beats within my heel a hope reborn.
They paved the path we used
to walk together, but they
could never pave over the
love I still hold for you in
my heart. Steady as breath,
constant as time, Rest forever
darling.
The phone lies still. The chamber dims its sight.
The walls grow wise with silence long denied.
I sit as one confessed unto the night,
while shadows watch me, curious yet kind.
My thoughts convene, unruly, undisciplined,
half-spoken truths that tremble as they rise.
Old griefs return, in borrowed skins reclined,
and hope arrives too softly to be wise.
I was born late into a weary age,
reared on alarms, on haste, on borrowed breath,
taught how to strive, how neatly play my stage,
not how to meet myself, uncloaked by depth.
O patient dark, thou askest no decree,
no polished truth, no courage neatly won.
Thou stayest while I falter honestly,
and name the selves I thought I had outrun.
So here I stand, no prophecy complete,
no certain end, no lesson neatly spun.
I breathe. I ache. I do not yet retreat.
I’m simply who I am, at twenty-three, alone.
Oh, breathe me deep, for in my gentle sigh,
You hear the voice of fields beneath the sky.
I sweep the clover and the dusty lane,
A voiceless sermon in the sun and rain.
No city’s clamour on my current rides,
The honest scent of pine where nature hides.
I carry whispers from the rustling maize,
And cool the brow in August’s sultry haze.
I am the chorus of the quiet dawn,
The breath of mist above the dewy lawn.
I tell of seasons, in a simple way,
And speak of peace, you lose from day to day.
Nowadays I'm a semi-recluse.
often, I feel the need to retreat,
reverse yet further
into a temporary nest
of a woolgathering and
imprecise brain.
It is feather-fluffing time,
time to watch squirrel's scamper
over a slack jawed presence,
to ogle thoughts from afar
as they fuzzily forage
after each other.
A wide Walnut tree,
spreads out of my imagination,
furry paws toy with cracked visions
in their nutshells.
Nobody here, nobody phoning or
knocking,
Just a crow cawing on a branch
which might be (in truth) my right arm.
That limb always was the most
social
and gregarious part of me -
I often talk to myself with it.
I wish you could love me. You say you want a girl who’s understanding, kind, loving, and will work for your trust. I would do all of that for you, I would work with you to build our relationship, but you don’t even want to try. It’s back and forth with you all the time, one second you care, the next you don’t, but I want so badly to help bring you the peace of mind you’ve been searching for. I know I’m not perfect, but why can’t we try? You said you like me, but you don’t want to date me, and that’s fine, but you can’t sit here and claim to want the kind of girl that I would be for you. Don’t say that I don’t want you, because I want you more than anything, even if you don’t want me.
I have measured the math of a mustard seed,
traced the geometry of origin,
the angles of mercy,
run fingers over the ridges of history
and found Him—
in carbon’s conspiracy,
in gravity’s governance,
in Fibonacci’s stubborn insistence on beauty.
Do you not see—
faith is not blind;
it is sight through the fog,
a reaching…
And now—
see yourself.
The burden you carried like iron mail
slides from your shoulders
as if it was never meant to stay.
Your hands tremble.
Your lips part.
And through the crack in your voice,
You say—
*"I was wrong."*
A new day dawns…
If you're trying to compete with me
Please know that I will let you win
Cause I don't have much energy
I'm old enough to fight this life
My focus at the moment is to protect
The peace I have within me
Doing the things that make my heart and soul happy
Learning courage to never be afraid
To take opportunity when it knocks
Making myself confident enough to face the future
As I wait the time for my sunset to come
Life is too short to waste my time
For the things that don't make any sense at all.
Silence pierced through the thick blanket
Of his thoughts, heretofore plagued
By a quaff of exhaled tobacco,
Spiralling and somersaulting in the air,
Like a fierce missile
Sent on a sinister mission,
Before mercilessly, ricocheting
Against the backdrop of his unassuming ceiling
There he stood
Imagining the gigantic impact
Of a tiny veil of vapor
As it burst forth from his nostrils
In a single file, before spreading it's renegade black wings,
Intimidatingly traversing every corner of the room;
He googled as the vapor ascended in a frenzy,
Like a gush of morning Dew,
Swaddling the orbit,
Before being subdued by a battalion of torrential rain,
Descending from the sky defiantly;
To proclaim the Cacophony and preponderance
Of the generic nature of life.
percussively
I think my way as rhythm
over cloud peaked tops
mountain points like metered dots
and on them stand and pluck, oh see
my breath transcends eternity
introspect
I aim my gewgaw outwardly
to a passing world
and yet it seems I’m not as bold
it searches inward with effect
I am my own play’s architect
meditate
a friend who soothes
who heals at home
I play for me and my ear alone
a remedy of beats I incorporate
in my therapeutic style of late
sanctuary
my sound is that
of a honeyed waterfall
hear breath, it’s grace over boulders call
a harmonising of beauty’s key
be vibrant yet my soliloquy
Written: May 6th 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's tough to revel in delight, but I grew!
Dreams rouse me, not in an aphonic view.
Nature provides her bounty every day,
I extend my hand and grasp her sway.
I perceive my youthful self in that place,
Her offerings were serendipitous grace.
In her sphere, blooms, and waterfalls,
A supple deer, an oaring raptor, in altar calls.
Each contributes to a feeling of calmness,
She was a fountain of pure suaveness.
Yet wars and famine steal my breath away,
A sight, luring amid a rutted path of ruby clay.
A moody inquiry into the root of my being,
A fleeting time of pure delightful feeling!
Thus, I wound up shooting my future ego,
Lift a glass, not a pistol, in a sky-dip indigo.
I rise again, and the sun surrounds me,
I can predict zodiac signs and lunar spree.
Along with Mars, Venus, and other oddities,
My mind spills, leaving no room for prodigies.
I shot for my destiny with this radical rhetoric,
Pulling me up a path reflected as historic.
A flash of his pistol, a gaze that said, walk,
My handgun babbled in its wandering talk.
"Soliloquy"
flying solo
the lone wolf sound
envelops me
poetically
inside
the Labyrinth
some kind god speaks
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
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