Greater than the sky that stretches beyond any limit known,
Was the pain that swelled beneath my skin as I drowned.
Precision, perfection, calibration were what I chased all life long,
Denying every craving and ache my heart ever knew.
Deeper than the oceans that descend, devouring every light,
Was every hesitation that smothered me whole.
Repercussions always screamed with a tear in the air,
A dirge of sin and guilt crashing into my grieving lair.
Standing tall was what I taught, though my heart bled,
"Never dare to defy" was all the lurking eyes said.
Colours glided faintly, lingering through the withered life,
Summoning me out of the abyss with the gentlest touch.
Life then felt like hope, something sacred and so pure,
Fear coiled in, for it felt too divine to lose it all.
Dead is what I thought I was before the kiss of truth.
Faith, love, and hope anchored me with life's greatest hue.
No, it wasn't the day of my death,
But the very first day of the rest of my life.
The birth of a life that cradles me with every colour known.
The birth of a life that I can claim as mine and mine alone.
I open my eyes, and she is gone.
I was the flower, and you, the queen bee.
Though I promised sweeter nectar, richer and deep,
You grew restless, leaving my petals to weep.
Suddenly a bird, you took to the breeze,
Soaring away, far above the trees.
I close my eyes, and she appears.
A grand eagle, slicing through the gale,
While I, a mere cloud, send a scent so frail,
Chasing your shadow, a never-ending trail.
Now, she is nowhere to be seen.
I drift into a dream once more.
Seeking new blossoms to claim and disown,
You are still a queen upon your throne.
'When those other flowers wither and die,
To another garden, you will surely fly.'
So I shall bloom no more.
A flower already withered at the core.
Let spring, summer, autumn, and winter roll by—
My petals will never again greet the sky.
Yet remember this, before your journey is done:
Your final stop, under the dying sun,
Will be the jaws of the butterwort flower—
Trapped in the carnivore's silent power.
She lost her husband suddenly.
Her heart simply stopped and dried up.
She'd never be the same.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2026
7.
Withered Youth
Off their garments, they naïve
Pose the young Adam and Eve
In the picture booth
Hail! Go withered youth
Ignore poor innocent grieve!
-01/02/2007
(Dumarao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
A withered leaf falls on a stream.
She moves with the whirling current.
Has she got an undisclosed dream?
Is her journey a mere errand?
A drowning ant finds her refuge.
Moths and mites use her as a boat.
The waters become a deluge.
Valiantly, together they float.
What would be the leaf's destiny?
Will she mingle with the ocean?
She has passed all hurdles bravely.
Of her end, she has no notion.
She still cherishes her voyage.
Each move has been her new mileage.
detached from dry trees
like torn rags of nomad's tents ~
who have I become?
With wispy hair as matted snow
Her raisin skin and wrinkled brow
Framed a face lit with youthful smile
And bright loving eyes without guile
Her gnarled knuckles on withered hands
Gently combed my snarls into strands
She neatly gathered in a bow
Kissing me, it was time to go
Plus, one warm hug, as was the rule,
Before I would skip off to school.
You admired my sonnets, and slowly,
You began to feel something for me too.
With one soft,.tender, kiss, you offered
Your kind and tender heart too.
But who has broken the scarlet tulip flower pot?
And instead of blood, I see water spilled—
The flowers of love have withered,
Has sweetness met its end?
An old, forgotten book lies half-hidden,
Dust-covered on the lowest shelf.
You opened it once while sailing,
Yet you can’t recall even a moment of your life—
And still, you never throw it away. No!
The beats of rhymes,
Are more than crime.
People always suspect,
All those who respect.
Some people don't stand,
By it's on motherland.
The flower that had withered,
But still no one figured.
The heart which is failed,
Because once it was sailed.
Not always the diaster,
Distroys one's laughter.
A evening,sun-set,
For sun isn't a regret.
The moon's dark stain,
Doesn't give it pain.
How long the earth,
Could bear the truth.
Because in the end,
The same will be the trend.
Look what have you done
The deeply etched scars
The immutable pain, once
there was no place for burn
Saw a pretty innocent girl
how she was always smiling
Her feminine, she's dead
She looks alive, but she's gone
The poetry when she spoke
The rhymes that you broke
The heart? it used to pump
Ironic enough it still yearns
Silent nights full of grief
Whispers of soul's belief
My sorrows are conscious
My happiness? never took a turn
Adoration, devotion,
fondness and what not
Majestic embrace, regal grace
Was that all, just for fun?
The madness I always showed
Your real You was what followed
I'm at peace, the soil fits in well
I'm buried below a pretty green fern
a simple Rose,
so fragrant bloom
each petal glows,
lights up the room
then veils our view,
our withered Moon
those born anew,
are withered soon
Once well-intended
morning sun alarmed my rise
voices stirred the field
tasks like steady watering —
enlisted day's living work
Then the old gates closed
the pathway seldom walked choked —
soil forgot the spade
plants shrank back for want of care
petals curled back deep within
Left unattended
the garden grows weeds of woe
memory withers —
branches sag beneath own weight
the reek of neglect lingers
Yet the ground still sighs
waiting for hand to return —
the soil lies furrowed
awaiting seeds cast resown
to sprout green in silent spring
Time to grasp the rake
kneel again between the rows
weed the listless out —
let gardening be mind's cure
for hiatus after frost
Written: August 14, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
**********
The wind remembers what I tried to forget—
a voice in the fire, a name in the rain.
I stood on the edge of the world I had built,
watching it crumble, stone by pain.
The dragon I drove was born from fire,
It flew through the dusk of my silent revolt,
chasing the ghosts I could never tame,
Its claws were echoes, and its air was dire.
I cast off the armor, I buried the sword,
but the war in my chest would not cease.
Each heartbeat is a drum, each silence a scream,
each tear a fragment of peace.
The sky opened wide as a wound in the soul,
And I leapt with no promise of ground.
The dragon dissolved into vapor and song,
And I fell where no chains could be found.
Now I walk through the ashes with wings of my own,
not golden, not whole—but free.
And the tears of the dragon still fall in my dreams,
But they no longer belong to me.
Fleeting youth, like petals bright,
Unfurls with promise, a wondrous sight.
Soft as a whisper, delicate as a sigh,
Dancing on breezes, with life's twinkling eye.
But soon, like autumn's chill, it fades,
Withers, and wrinkles, in life's swift shades.
Petals drop, like tears, like memories past,
Leaving the stem, bare, and forever aghast.
The flower's beauty, lost to the wind,
Echoes of laughter, silenced, and left behind.
The vibrancy, the glow, the radiant hue,
Fades to a whisper, of what once shone true.
Yet, even in withering, the flower's tale,
Reminds us to cherish, life's fleeting gale.
To hold dear, each moment, each kiss, each sigh,
For in the withering, we find, the beauty that's been, and why.
So let us bask, in youth's radiant glow,
And cherish each moment, as the flower's petals grow.
For though it withers, its beauty remains,
A memory, a whisper, of life's fleeting, sweet refrains.
carriers of souls
birth cord, from the branches, cut ~
freedom in full flight
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