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Best Poems Written by Alex Ferdin

Below are the all-time best Alex Ferdin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I'm just a girl

(Deep breath, like a sigh)
I'm just a girl, they say, just a fragile thing, but beneath this skin a storm is raging, a constant, churning wave, And I'm just a girl, yes, and the ticking clock in my chest is a maddening drum, it echoes in the empty hallways of my mind, a relentless, hurried pace. I’m just a girl but the weight of it all is pressing down, a heavy blanket, smothering light and leaving only shadows shifting on the wall, I yearn, I yearn, for a quiet, a stillness that the world refuses, a cessation of this relentless push, a softening of this hard, unyielding earth , Oh, I yearn, i yearn, for the final note, the echo that fades into silence, a release from this tight drawn bow, this unending, nervous strain , Because I'm just a girl, and the days are long, and the nights are restless, full of the dreams i cant grasp and the fears i can't escape, And I’m just a girl, but the tapestry of my life is fraying at the edges, the colors bleeding into a blurry, indistinct mess; this frantic, endless searching , And I yearn, i yearn, like a parched throat in a desert for the rain, for the finality of a closing door, the peace of falling asleep and not waking again, I’m just a girl, and I see it all, the looming shadows, the promises broken, the potential unrealized, the endless circle, the constant, crushing weight, So I yearn, I yearn, for the final page, the turning off of the light, the quiet, dark abyss, the sweet, sweet silence at the end.

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December

In the soft glow of December’s muted light,
you gather around the table, memories swirling,
not as bright as they once shimmered in your youth,
but still, they echo—a chorus of laughter fading.
You were wild then, careless as the falling snowflakes,
dancing into the arms of midnight, oblivious to time,
each heartbeat counting the minutes under star-drenched skies,
but now, those moments feel like ghosts, haunting the air.
You aren’t sixteen anymore, and the world has shifted,
like heavy drapes drawn tight against the winter chill,
where mischief once bloomed like daffodils in springtime,
now responsibility gathers like dust in the corners.
Look at how the frost etches lace on the windowpanes,
a delicate reminder of seasons that have passed,
while you sift through fragments of who you were,
and wonder if youth was merely an illusion, a dream.
In the hum of the kitchen, the kettle’s gentle whistle,
you hear the whispers of teenagers, restless and bold,
their laughter rings out, a vibrant song of the present,
yet your heart lingers on the edge of what was, what could have been.
You think of those bright-eyed afternoons filled with promise,
the clang of a high school locker, the rush of first love,
the reckless abandon of tossing caution to the wind,
yet now, those echoes are muted, a bittersweet reflection.
You’ve traded late-night exploits for quiet reflections,
stepping over the threshold of adulthood with grace,
but every now and then, a spark ignites inside,
a longing, a flicker of who you once dared to be.
As you watch the snow blanket the world in white,
you realize December holds more than just loss;
it cradles possibility, a chance to reflect and grow,
to weave the threads of past and present into a tapestry.
So let the seasons change, let time flow like a river,
for though you are no longer sixteen, you are more—
a mosaic of laughter, pain, wisdom, and strength,
and in this moment, you stand, alive in all your layers.

Details | Alex Ferdin Poem

A Certain Angle

Sometimes, when we find ourselves in the softest light,
a glow spills through the window, casting shadows
that dance and flicker between each heartbeat,
I catch a glimpse of you from a certain angle,
and for a fleeting moment, you dissolve,
become a stranger wrapped in wonder,
the contours of your laughter echoed by the stars,
the silent sutures stitching dreams into our skin.
You stand there, a mosaic of delicate uncertainties,
and I realize, in your gaze, lies that contradiction—
a tender stranger with the power
to weave through the fabric of my very being,
as if, in another life, we have collided on moonlit streets,
traced constellations in each other's eyes,
yet tonight, your essence evades me,
like a whisper escaping dusk’s embrace.
We are weightless, drifting in this surreal fantasy, 
where love dresses us in twilight’s hues,
each brush of your hand holds the warmth of the sun,
but like patterns in shifting sands, your face—
morphs in shadows, becomes an enigma anew,
I stand enchanted, contemplating the familiar strangeness
of knowing you while simultaneously unraveling—
two souls tethered yet veiled by the surreal.
In this delicate silence, it’s as if
the universe conspires to keep you elusive,
and I’m both terrified and fascinated,
for underneath the galaxies of your presence,
my heart beats an understanding, both raw and true,
that we were made to be the lovers of this moment
even when the stories we are writing together
speak in the cryptic tongue of whispered unknowns.
So let’s wander in this twilight maze,
where every glance becomes an unwritten poem,
sometimes, I glance at you, and
you’re the stranger in starlight,
with the unfathomable ability to love me
just as fiercely as I crave your love—
and for just a heartbeat, we are both.
An infinite fabric, a waltz of beings,
lost in this brilliant paradox of “us.”

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The Gentle Stare

The sunlight spills across her hair, a river of spun gold, And I, like a moth drawn to a flame it cannot hold, observe her from afar, My gaze, a silent symphony, a melody that never leaves my heart, I wonder, am I allowed to look at her with such a tender, lingering start?
Her laughter, like the chime of distant bells, a delicate and sacred sound, washes over the room, a gentle wave that crashes on my silent shore, The corners of my lips curve upward, a secret kept and never found aloud, Could it be some sort of wrong, when she is just so genuinely nice to see and adore.
Her grace is like the willow tree, swaying gently in a summer breeze, Each thoughtful turn, each gesture, a masterstroke of pure delight, And my unspoken adoration, hangs suspended, amongst these silent trees, I search for any signals, but this feeling stays lost in the soft pale night.
My heart, is an uncharted territory, where feelings bloom in secret places, This unrequited affection, a silent hum, that vibrates deep within my soul, It feels like a garden overgrown where only one soul knows the garden spaces, I'm lost in the maze of longing and a love I can't dare to make whole.
She moves with a quiet strength, like a mountain standing strong and tall, And I feel a warmth, spreading through me, like the sun through the morning dew, I yearn to know her thoughts, to walk with her away and through it all, But, I'm rooted to this spot, watching this beautiful star, with my silent view.
Is this a forbidden glance, a love that cannot be, a dream that will not start? My spirit aches with knowing, that this connection might never be more, But I will continue to watch her, with admiration forever etched in my heart, A quiet watcher, admiring her essence forever on this silent shore.

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Gaze Unspoken

Am I allowed to look at her like that? A question soft, a silent plea within. Her kindness pours, a sunbeam warm and bright, Could it be wrong to find such grace a sight?
She moves like water, gentle, ever-flowing, My eyes, they follow, a current caught and swayed. Her laugh, a melody, fills all the space, Is it a sin this admiration I've embraced?
Like a moth drawn to a radiant flame, I'm pulled to her, a helpless, quiet pull. This feeling blossoms, secret and unknown, But is it wrong she's so beautiful?
She speaks of friends and things I cannot be, A world I watch from distant, shaded shore. My heart beats fast, a nervous little bird, This truth of mine, I can't ignore, anymore.
It's a quiet love, a soft and gentle ache, Like a slow rain, it soaks into my soul. Is it a mistake, this longing that's grown deep? When all I want is to make her whole.
Her smile is a star, I watch it from afar, Wishing for a touch I cannot claim. Perhaps it's just me, a foolish, fragile thing, Lost in the echo of her whispered name.
A silent symphony, playing in my mind, Her image etched, beautiful, and bright. And although unreachable, a gentle flame, She fills my world with such a serene light.

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Strangers

And suddenly, we were strangers again,
lost in the whispers of autumn leaves,
where laughter once danced like sunlight,
our shared stories, fragile as spun sugar,
swirling in the dim corners of memory,
each echo a soft ache against the silence.
I trace the ghost of your smile,
against the faded canvas of yesterday,
where we spun dreams under the vast azure,
weaving threads of trust, delicate and bright,
yet time became a wandering river,
pulling you downstream to shores unknown.
I remember the way our thoughts intertwined,
two vines climbing the same ancient tree,
each branch a story told in the twilight,
the sweet scent of familiarity lingering,
now replaced by the cold bite of distance,
the space between us is an abyss of unsaid words.
Oh, how I miss your laughter,
a melody that could light the darkest nights,
now merely a dusting of stardust,
entrapped in the constellation of my mind,
the way your eyes sparkled,
while the world bloomed with indifferent beauty.
We were companions, sculptors of the same clay,
our hands molded by understanding,
yet now I stand, a solitary figure,
among memories that brush against my skin,
like a winter breeze that carries scents of lost autumn,
and I reach in futility, towards the shadows of what was.
In crowded rooms filled with familiar faces,
your absence carves a hollow echo,
each conversation a reminder of the void,
the weight of unshared moments unravels me,
as I grapple with the strangeness of your smile,
a tapestry of warmth now drawn too tight.
And suddenly, we were strangers again,
with hearts once beating simultaneously,
yet somehow, I carry the essence of you,
like a lost key rattling in worn pockets,
a stranger I often miss,
a ghost whose laughter lingers in the air.
So I stand among these shadows,
chasing the silhouettes of what once was,
embracing the bittersweet sting of reminiscing,
as life unfolds, ever onward toward the horizon,
but deep down, beneath the layers,
I know—I'll always seek you in the crowd.

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Weaving lies and truths

In shadows cast by memories lost, I tread,
Willing to creep into a thousand masks, to pretend,
If only to grasp the echoes of heartbeats,
When your laughter danced through the hollow halls of my soul.
I’d weave a tapestry of lies, bright and vivid,
To cloak the truth, to drown the silence that remains,
For those fleeting moments, the warmth of your gaze,
Are whispers of solace I crave in the storm of my ache.

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History has its eyes on me

The weight of ages, a ghostly gaze,
A thousand stories in a timeless maze,
They watch me now, from shadows deep,
A silent vigil they forever keep.

History's breath, a chilling breeze,
Rustling through the ancient trees,
Their eyes, a mosaic, sharp and keen,
Observing every act, every scene.

Not just the heroes, bold and bright,
But common souls, within the night,
The struggles faced, the hopes they held,
Their echoes in my spirit swelled.

Kings and queens, their reigns of old,
The stories whispered, bravely told,
Rebellions fought, for freedom sought,
Every victory, every lesson taught.

They see my choices, small and grand,
The footprints I leave upon the sand,
Will they approve, or turn away?
Will they see good, or just decay?

This weight of knowing, both fright and grace,
A responsibility in this time and space,
To be aware, to choose with care,
For history's eyes are always there.

So I will strive to live with might,
To make my actions honest, pure, and bright,
For though I'm fleeting, like the morning dew,
History has its eyes on me, and I on you.

Details | Alex Ferdin Poem

Falling in love with a girl as a girl

In the quiet hours of twilight,  
her laughter dances through the air,  
a melody woven with golden threads,  
echoing in the corners of my heart.  

I watch her, a constellation of dreams,  
hair like the cool morning sunrise, cascading in whispers,  
her smile, a sunbeam that breaks through clouds,  
illuminating shadows I once knew.  

We share secrets like stars spill across the night,  
nervous breaths in the spaces between us,  
each touch, electric sparks igniting,  
two souls in a world sculpted from stardust.  

Her eyes, deep as the earth around us,
holds the weight of a thousand stories,  
and in her gaze, I find my own reflection,  
a tapestry of colors yet untold.  

We wander through gardens, hand in hand,  
among blooms that sigh in the warm breeze,  
every step a promise, every glance a sigh,  
as if the universe conspired for our hearts to collide.  

In the symphony of pink skies and falling leaves,  
I discover a truth, delicate yet fierce
to love, to feel, to simply be,  
is to dance with the essence of who we truly are.  

And as the stars begin to twinkle,  
in the softness of night’s embrace,  
I whisper her name into the cosmos,  
a prayer for the love we are building,  
two girls, entwined in the glow of possibility.