Some days the weight isn't heavy or loud,
just a fog that settles behind the eyes,
a persistent, low-hanging winter cloud
that blurs the shape of the morning skies.
We ask ourselves why we are tired or slow,
as if healing moves in a straight, clear line,
forgetting the seed buried under the snow
is working in secret before its design.
It takes courage to rest when the world demands speed,
to sit with the storm till the thunder subsides,
to listen with patience to what the heart needs,
instead of the pressure that daily decides.
You do not need to be cured by tonight,
nor prove that you’re whole to be worthy of space;
just stay in the room, let yourself see the light,
and meet your own spirit with unconditional grace.
The heat of summer gradually subsides
A coolness comes to Earth, to air, to tides
The architects of castles in the sand
Return to classrooms, teachers, books and band
Our gardens nearing final days and hours
Yield happily the last of fruits and flowers
A message comes to visit on the breeze
It's written on the color-changing trees
This pass of summer cannot be delayed
But we can still remember how we played
Come breath of freshness, as the seasons change
Our nature canvas now will rearrange
The sun will sooner rest low in the sky
A cotton candy treat then for the eye
Soon Mums and gourds and pumpkins on the porch
Of hay bails and a scarecrow tiki torch
So welcome hues of reds and golden glow
Dear Autumn, let your pleasing pace be slow
I feel the torrent of pain racking my body’s life.
In despair, I hold my wife's hand so tight.
Tears and sobbing surround me; my family feels helpless.
Yet as the pain subsides, I smile, knowing I’m blessed.
I look at each of them, reminiscing about our life memories.
Watching each of them create a new family with their stories.
With each telling of what we lovingly remembered from our times.
Then a warm, gentle wind blows through, ringing the chimes.
I feel a new presence of love forming before me as I am in awe.
My family senses the calming comfort of the inevitable call.
I call forth with my last breath that I love them, to let me go.
Then my wife calmed my family and told me we are ok so I let go.
Brother Jesus held me, and he quieted my heart as I cried.
The time has come for my family to grieve as I died.
The joy of fervent freedom suffuses my sky,
enraptured heart’s allured songbird soars high,
glides in the spring-rippled amorous air,
carries your fleeting jasmine flair.
No one sings the song of lonesome yearning,
for the thunder storm of strife surges in
from the illusive horizon receding to obscurity,
the wrench of desertion crushes my ecstasy.
The crippled bird folds the wings curled,
like the withered flower painfully unfurled.
Mangled mind endures the pangs of isolation
in the ruined nest made of twigs of emotion.
The wilted petals dislodge from the floral fold
as the snow storm blows winds of desertion cold.
The devout flower finds the dreams in debris,
in the rustle of leaves its sigh subsides weary.
Radiance of the spent sun sets with a lonely creep,
an impaled bird loses its course in blue deep
of the far away sky not yet flown.
The pain of broken heart feels like black cat moan.
(Inspired by Glenn Hudges' song Black Cat Moan)
The calm skies welcomed a light rain that lasted
a while, but suddenly natures unpredictable flare
gathered its clouds and burst into a heavy storm.
With intense luminescence of a lightning-lit sky,
the soft light precedes the shatter of thunder that
pierced the heavens with an iron bolt; and again,
repeating its uproarious cry until Zeus was satisfied.
At the storm’s climax, mirroring each other’s motion,
aligned together, our bare homologous bodies
in full sway intertwined under blue satin skies,
synchronize as an unwritten symphony, a bohemian
rhapsody of involuntary euphoria that seems to last
forever. When the storm finally subsides, relaxing
in each other’s arms, in search of a resolution unlike
the placelessness of other times never visited before.
Our eyes shut, the words “I love you” yet unsaid.
There is magic in the air
when you wake up with words there
bouncing in your brain
then they begin to fall like rain
and you end up with a poem
that speaks to you like home
and touches your deep insides
and the anxiousness subsides
because you created something unique
and you can feel the peak
of the ability to create
something great
Empty Road Signs
Time takes on
a dimension
only time can understand
It’s a long long way
from being lost
to anywhere
The present stays
uncharted
like the fulcrum of a dream
Tomorrow
an empty road sign
— its message to portend
***
Turning The Latch
Is anything more prescient
than a window
open wide
Awaiting sun
or moonlight
and the wind that blows outside
Its latch when turned
inviting
unlocked it puts in play
The ingress
and the egress
— of every passing day
***
We All Share
There’s a comfort
in dying
that death can’t provide
Assured
of an ending
where conflict subsides
We all share
in common
the end of the road
Where time
has no meaning
— pain left to implode
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
after "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.
after poem: A Pulse Is Bound To Wane
A pulse is bound to wane,
red rhythm vibes in vein.
A stream-bed’s liquid power
still stirs when mood turns dour.
But beats do follow beats,
like cleats on city streets,
‘til red sun siphons west
throb beneath my breast.
Until...
The ferocious storm of dispute subsides,
It would be wise for one to take shelter in
The bunker of silence.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 April 2026
He finds the knots where the pressure hides,
moving his hands till the ache subsides.
He works the kinks with a steady palm,
meeting my storm with a quiet calm.
It’s so disarming, the way he cares;
I’m caught off guard by the love he shares.
The relief hits hard and the tears start falling,
to a place of peace that is so enthralling.
I weep from the touch and the pain inside,
from all of the secrets of hurt I try to hide.
I’m grateful for how he sees my soul,
helping the broken feel almost whole.
Yet I wrestle with fears I can’t erase,
even while held in his warm embrace.
I want to let go and just be free,
to let him see all that is left of me.
But the ghost of despair is standing near,
feeding the doubt and the sudden fear.
He’s wise and deep, always on the line,
blending his strength with this life of mine.
We laugh and we cheer as the music plays,
brightening even my darkest days.
I’m treading soft, though the path is fair,
still hiding my heart to avoid despair.
Everyday Has Problems
War Continues
Do you listen to all of the garage being built up
Do you protest along the sidewalk
Madness everywhere, continues
Another holy war planet in the desert
At every turn, is complete chaos
The government is divided
No one has a solution
Our freedom of speech has evaporated
The new is always pessimistic
Nothing is getting done
Too many people involved
When do we draw the line
It’s past the point
Leadership becomes dictatorship
For no one wins
Another lost war begins
Truly, we have lost our way
Everything is divided by turmoil
The world is depleting all of our resources
No one does good
Not even one
Conflict never subsides
False promises are aggravating
We are pushed to the brink
Soon it will be World War 3
The frost still clings to hollows deep,
Where shadows stretch in iron gray,
Yet waking from a frozen sleep,
The world begins to turn away.
A single blade of emerald light
Pierces the crust of hardened snow,
Brave herald of the coming bright,
Where hidden, rushing waters flow.
The winter’s veil is wearing thin,
A tattered shroud of mist and sigh,
As golden warmth begins to win
And paint the edges of the sky.
Each shivering branch and rooted stem
Prepares to shed its coat of white,
To wear the dew—a budding gem—
And step into the morning light.
—Praesens, Expenditus, Absolutus—
Chronos coils like molten aurum through our grasp,
its heft cognizable only in the pulse of Time.
No antecedent lends credence, no futurity preserves;
the contemporaneous alone adjudicates its coin against our marrow.
Respiration becomes legal tender; heartbeat, the irrevocable contract.
Each gaze, each gesticulation, a transient negotiation,
flaring and collapsing like ephemeral markets of umbra
we cannot master, only apprehend.
We discourse in fragments—chronicles of hours and quanta—
as if the ledger of existence might be reconciled.
Yet the cosmos remains uncounted, its obligations
inscribed in luminance and silence, trembling in its own shadow;
And in that tremor, we are born, spent, and unmade,
clutching the coin of now in trembling palms,
investing neither in timorous regret nor avarice,
for the treasury of eternity resides exclusively in immediacy.
Once the convulsion subsides, stasis returns.
We stand, unborrowed and unbought,
observing the inexorable flux of aeons,
and apprehend: naught endures save that which is expended righteously.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not the refined ideal version
imagined in the dead of night.
Not the best moments or your carefully crafted persona
but the raw, untamed, slightly bruised
and beautifully imperfect you.
The wind carries the seed of that truth
planting it deep within the soil of my soul.
It might take time to blossom,
to push through the hardened earth of expectation,
but it is there.
And in our shared quiet moments,
the world dissolves and the noise subsides~
I hear it again, a steady, unwavering hum:
You are enough. Just as you are. Now.
Ill be crawling to you dirty and drenched
Im sorry for what I said while shedding this skin
Forgive me
please hold me in your hands
and see me
It's important that you understand
This is for our own good
We have to bend, twist, break if we must
till the fever leaves our body and the feeling pries itself back into our limbs
Cry, cry until the pain subsides and we feel ourself open
Let the light in, even where the hurt clings precariously to our ribs
Reveal that tender heart of ours once and for all...
P.S. thank me later
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