Before the fire of time was lit, there was no “before”—
No clock, no tick, no arrow.
Space had not stretched its first trembling thread,
And matter was still a secret.
A silence so complete it was not silence.
A void so pure it was not absence.
Something flickered in the nothing,
A law, a whisper, a possibility.
Gravity curled upon itself,
Quantum foam stirred like breath in sleep.
Energy dreamed it might take form,
And the dream became a spark.
From that spark came time.
From time came stars,
From stars came us, asking why.
What was before the beginning?
The question itself dissolves into light.
For years I had an idea in my head
You came along and brought it to life
I watched my thoughts and words take form of a human
Dreams of romance and adoration truly breathed
I was in awe
Something so far was finally at my fingertips
You were real
That was the best time of my life
I hate myself for taking it for granted
Because now,
It was all just a dream
Lines in lightning carved in stone?
Geoglyph, take form.
Mile behind the melee zone?
Keep the soldiers warm.
Bright beside the boreal pole?
Buildings in glass, shine.
Heaven and Hell, thy control!
Doom and Death, we dine!
Trickle, time? Riddle or rhyme?
Boxes, sheath the mime.
Dynamite, done on a dime?
Skidding in the slime...
Forlorn and forgotten?
Adventure, dare to seek?
Render red run rotten?
Ergo, the boneyard creak.
Sleek as tigers in the grass?
Dare not here to tread.
Linen round the looking-glass?
City of the dead!
Chlorophyll, do ye streaks leave?
Deceased child, bereave?
Gold, when absent, do they grieve?
Hone before you heave.
Believe what you want, scion.
Miracles abound.
Chess master, sac queen and pawn!
Flicker til you're found.
Round the vizier's chandelier?
Diamonds, sparkle grim.
Dinnertime! What do ye fear?
Crater, cone to rim...
Foremost apex bird leading the flock flight
United to run the race and fight the fight
Apache, Comanche, Samurai, knight
Choosing to keep victory in mind and sight
Tearing through the darkness till we behold light
March by day, sojourn by night
And because we solely rest upon God’s might
Only being head and not tail feels right
Bracing the weather, weathering the storm
We give and take as we take form
Change is our preserve as we preserve righteous norm
Moment’s heat in a cold world somehow feels warm
As happenings and deeds feed how our deeds perform
In life’s seesaw arena we sow to see what will blossom
From middles and ends, we claim the whole portion by portion
We mark and eke out our ideals and a nation
Advancing, withstanding and wearing off resistance
With passion, conviction and insistence
Feeding on virtue and denying sin any dalliance
Overcoming evil with good and rebellion with reverence
Fruitfulness ousts empty occupation and nonchalance
And so we emerge from the dull trenches with a radiance
With a baffling lustre, poise and stance
Affording a gaze where we couldn’t beg a glance
K. Muitherero
The last embers of a sunset
sink below a dark horizon
almost mirroring a Rothko
painting in its somber
and weighted tones.
A sadness has found
a place to settle
for the evening
and is absorbed
by the water and sky.
It seems weary, unable
to take form in a thought
and be given a name,
but is more a shade
as that which inhabits
the internal landscape
of a haiku when something
fragile and exquisitely beautiful
is caught briefly in its passing
and let go.
It is a sadness that feels
soul deep, reverberates
in the ear beyond
any audible note
from a place that echoes
an emptiness,
the absence of what perhaps
first gave it breath
and let its fragile existence
float free and alone
to wash up on the shores
of this gentle evening
and utter a sigh.
As the sun surrenders to the moon
The world falls asleep too soon
And the mind whispers secrets to the soul
In silence, the soul begins its search.
First, it unearths the actions you regret
Moments declined, decisions accepted
It delves deep into your intentions
Those laid out, and those yet to take form.
In silence, the soul seeks lost opportunities
The failures born of choices mad
Chances offered, but left not taken
A silent reckoning in the quiet of night.
The soul never truly sleeps
It hunts for answers to the heart’s desires
Questions burn, yet go unanswered
All within the stillness of the soul’s silence.
in the morning, before silence is pierced by voices,
before words take form and erase the quietude,
the hesitant stillness fading into the soft, clear dawn
dew trembling on the edges of petals,
gentle as the moonlight who colors the moment
in a tentative prayer, broken only by the listening
of robins, wrens and doves who risk their nature,
on the poignant branches of oaks, birch, maple –
tender pines and laurels, woods embracing
each song, each crisp lyric from the beaks of hopeful
nests, havens of graceful characters who burn
with the colors of life – indigo, gold and scarlet
rich displays of joy, unburdened by worries
confessing only to the light who abides, touching
each feather, each wing, each soaring spirit
with adoration that stills their musing in nature’s tears.
When will peace finally come
to reign in righteous hearts,
will skies be without smoke?
Hear a mother's lingering cry,
rocking her dear child to sleep;
all she asks for is words of mercy!
Many invoke a last wish for peace,
lives will be lost until it'll take form;
what does it take to make it cease?
Storms take away all sunlight,
wars destroy tranquility and joy;
they create anxiety and fright!
Warmongers build weapons,
peacemakers pray and hope;
which side will be victorious?
restless perceptions lie
in shadows they stir
in moments of silence words stir
as they wait to take form
the house is still
but it breathes
outside the window
a yard light shines a star
in the back of the house
a quiet side street
notes jotted down in haste
wait for the morning light
a love poem to be written
waits to be shared
Lost in the Dark
In the depths so deep
Lost in a realm of sleep
Subconsciously aware
Lost in all despair
A sudden cold breeze
A feeling of unease
Awakens all senses
As your body tenses
Grappling with your sight
Awakening flight or fight
In the deepest of gloom
Within your solemn room
Engulfed by nightmarish fears
Where this abyss appears
Your imagination runs wild
This chasm so beguiled
In the darkness shadows take form
Your eyes deceived from the norm
Mystical, terrifying at the same time
Your imagination in a new paradigm
Darkness encircles everything
Of what your emotions bring
Within this twilight so stark
When you are lost in the dark
Life is beautiful, a complex collage
of memories
Epiphanies arise while deep in thought
observing the energy
They come to me when I'm flowing like
rivers & channels
We're interdimensional & forever fluid just
surfing channels
We're meant to be more than basic
embracing complexity
The loving embrace of mother nature
absolves complacency
The father of all lights the way of illumined
paths
There's not a single problem minus answers
if you learn the math
Our formulas take form while in imagined
states
We get results when we mold thoughts
immune to breaks
Whatever it takes just keep faith in the
forefront of mind
Life is a beautiful complex collage of
time
You find a place where
the sun reaches across
the river with a little feeble
warmth to rest on your face.
Soon it will be the shortest day.
The shadows are cold
and stretch out like fingers,
pinching at what light
you've managed to keep
flickering within yourself.
You find something pleasant
to think about, a memory
perhaps, a fancy,
anything to put into
an old heater to keep
you warm and give out
a comforting glow.
It is then, images begin
to take form in flame
as something in you stirs
and writes itself in ash
to mark another winter solstice
on the walls of your
hibernating soul.
In shadows she finds solace, the emo girl's domain,
With eyes adorned in darkness, a kaleidoscope of pain.
Her heart, a delicate tapestry, woven with sorrow's thread,
As she navigates a world where emotions are often unsaid.
In ebony attire, she stands against the tide,
A beacon of authenticity, where emotions can't hide.
Her essence, like a melody, resonates in the night,
A symphony of rawness, a kaleidoscope of light.
Behind her silent tears, a depth of wisdom lies,
A wounded soul seeking solace under moonlit skies.
Her scars tell a story, a testament to her strength,
A reminder that even broken hearts can find their own wavelength.
With pen and paper as her sanctuary, she weaves her inner storm,
In verses drenched with darkness, her emotions take form.
She dances with her demons, embracing the shadows' touch,
Finding beauty in the chaos, the melancholy becomes her crutch.
Though misunderstood by many, she walks her path with grace,
Defying society's expectations, she finds her sacred space.
For beneath her somber visage, a spirit shines so bright,
An emo girl's resilience, a beacon in the night.
Most poems
bite the bones of our restless fingers;
if ignored they may lay grub-sized eggs
under the welcome mat,
eggs that hatch into noxious clouds
within unsuspecting minds.
Best to write down those words
no matter how absurd.
Best to get it all off your chest
before it grows into a 500 pound gorilla.
Do you read your poem out loud
even before the words take form?
Do you make weird sounds
inside your mouth?
Do you rattle your epiglottis
as if it were an apple tree
and you were starving for just one apple?
If so, you must be a poet,
maybe not a good one
but by God you try, and if you annoy -
it you only create noxious clouds
then let them be smoke signs,
signals that you are most passionate
about how original your art smells.
Amidst the fiery pits, where heaven's memories of betrayal reside,
False divinities reign over each flame of inferno wide.
Mankind roams in robes of despair, with blades of might on their bones,
Each agonizing wound carving their innocent sins, as if in tones.
Infernal flames devour the flesh of the lands,
Leaving nothing but ashes of the damned.
Divine winds blow, directionless and heedless,
The ashes take form, of the faces of thousand children helpless.
The light of heaven's windows shines upon the pathway of hell,
Unwelcoming of remaining faces of what was once man's dwell.
Such holy light leads to an unholy land,
Where each step taken, is a step lost in the infernal strand.
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