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Best Poems Written by Ramon Riveraalmena

Below are the all-time best Ramon Riveraalmena poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Full Measure

Don’t waste your time with pieces,
with “almost” and “not quite.”
Life’s too sharp for half-hearted choices,
for living in the in-between.
Either speak, or stay quiet,
but never let silence be a whisper
you didn’t mean to make.

Don’t wait for the right moment
to give your whole self.
Half a truth is a lie in disguise,
and what you leave unsaid
will live louder than anything you speak.

Don’t walk halfway to a goal—
it’s just a road you’ll never finish.
Dream only what you can touch,
and hold those dreams with both hands.
There’s no room for waiting
for someone else to fill in the blanks,
no one else will show up
to finish your story for you.

A piece of love is no love at all.
Neither is a moment shared
when you’re not really there.
What’s the point of a laugh
if it’s caught halfway in your throat?
What’s a promise
if it’s never fully given?

Half a life is like a house
that never gets built,
a song that doesn’t end,
a dance with no rhythm.
Don’t just exist—
be fully present,
not a shadow of who you could be.

There’s nothing wrong with starting over,
but never start only to stop.
Don’t live in the spaces between,
but fill the room with everything
you are.

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Old Tongues, Quiet Truths

The oldest voices whisper below the ground.
Hands pull on roots — wind-beaten, gnarled —
stories woven through the fabric of time.
Bark peeled slick, leaves flattened,
the wisdom of what makes whole lies
between finger and thumb,
passed along like a flame, a prayer.

But the soil only knows part of the story.
The other half lives in breath,
a noise wafting through the room —
a voice wrapping itself around the injured,
knitting them back into themselves,
as if words alone could summon strength,
draw poison from blood.

And when the breath becomes thin,
when there’s no salve to ease the pain,
there is no anger here.
Only the stillness of understanding:
death is on the far side of the cure.

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Moments in Passing

1. Whisper of Tides

Soft tides brush the shore,
stars tumble through endless dark,
feet sink in cool sand.

2. Spring's Awakening

New buds lean skyward,
first light glows on their faces—
spring stirs from her sleep.

3. Echoes at Dusk

Empty room at dusk,
footsteps echo, fading slow—
a chill settles in.

4. The Question

Stepping on dry leaves,
I turn to see my child’s face—
a quiet question.

5. Morning’s Breath

Footsteps in cold grass,
breath mingles with morning’s chill,
frost melts underfoot.

6. Autumn’s Embrace

Orange leaves tumble,
settling close like warm embers —
autumn’s gentle fall.

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I Am The Light

I am as I’ve always been,
born of stars, of dust, of flame.
The light that lingers past the dark
still knows me by my truest name.

No wound can steal the love I hold,
no loss can dim my spirit’s grace.
I stand through every storm I meet,
bound steady to all time and place.

This body bends, the bones may break,
yet what I am will not dissolve—
an endless reach without an edge,
a breath the stars themselves evolve.

With each step, I am reborn,
in every fall, I rise anew.
No tarnish stains this living soul;
I am the light, whole and true.

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Beyond Every Frame

I’m not for every eye to see,
a quiet truth that lives in me.
Steady in heart, grounded and whole,
I guard the light within my soul.

I may not bend to each demand;
my roots hold firm where I stand.
Through scars and stumbles, I claim the road,
guided by courage to bear the load.

If I don’t fit the world’s tight mold,
I’ll shape my life with hands untold,
for I’m not bound to every frame,
and what I am won’t fear the flame.

Details | Ramon Riveraalmena Poem

Freedom Bares Its Teeth

Freedom isn’t a delicate flower;
It’s the fist that goes through the ground,
the teeth that grind at the chains,
the howl of a wind
that won’t ask for permission.

I refuse to bow to the crumbs of tomorrow,
I won’t let my bones sink into decay,
a shell waiting to grow scraps.
I’ll carve out freedom
from this stubborn rock—
bloody-knuckled and relentless.

Do not tell me that patience is a virtue.
Patience is the poison they peddle
to keep you under control.
Freedom roars. Freedom bares its teeth.
Silence will never hold my name.

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Actors in Love

Ah romance — such an elevated form of make-believe,
with promises and roses that are rarely kept.
Two players, both knowing, smiles just as wily,
each coming closer, each stinging a lie.

They say love’s a puzzle, some misty dance,
but more likely it feels like an enterprise, a turn –
a wink and a promise neither has any right to make,
only two clever souls with a ruse to follow.

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Where Silence Settles

If I was to speak, would my words pierce the thick silence surrounding me, or would they disappear within it? Not every sound carries through this stasis, which feels thick with something hidden.

I watch crowds of people go by, untouched, as if my pulse were floating, lightly, my whisper a soft murmur, always just out of range, never quite loud enough to matter.

What are the quiet aches you shoulder, my love? Does guilt wash over you when you pay no mind to the fragile things that are out of sight, or do they quickly lose their charge in your heart?

But in the dust I breathe beneath this wooden floor, I trace lines through the cracks, a sanctuary for all that is not seen, an asylum race of cobwebs and shadows, where everything that disappears still tries to approach its place.

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Chasing What Isn’t Mine

The child pursues melodies I’ll never understand,
the notes wallowing through my fingertips like grains of sand.
But in the distance a flute laughs, softly,
a zither weeping its baleful notes—
both distant, blunt, and foreign.

I fell here once,
at the border of sound and silence,
hit by a blade I didn’t see coming.
Whose shadow loomed, blade in hand?
The answer is buried deep in the night,
stretching long and wide,
refusing to end,
refusing to begin.

Details | Ramon Riveraalmena Poem

Of Locks and Keys

She is a door creaking with the burden of secrets,
he, a latch turned halfway to the outside world.
Where she hides tempests, he guards stillness,
yet when they come together, there’s a wordless connection:
the unlocking of something hidden,
neither complete until the other shifts.