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Noah Piet Poem
Flee the scene
before the dawn
frames the escape.
Treat with plenty of faith
& you can suspend belief,
like the irony
in how it takes a cynic
to persuade.
Poetic contracts speak
for a Man,
and a lord,
between a grave;
wonders death doesn’t come
when you’re aware of some strings,
even when waves roll back,
they tend to more often break
solely to come back again
and continue to take.
A power
to turn entire coasts
into the oceans deep.
A power
of breaking chains,
and setting free
the wings of angels
and their screams,
by tossing their guarded
and posts
into the tides
of the seas.
You’re not fleeing the scene
you’re redirecting,
and setting a stage.
Think again…
or, for once
and breathe.
Remember
of the unintended shadows
fallen in between
the ideas,
the words,
and the worlds of things.
You’re only claiming
of what you can’t see
of what we can’t know.
Anything can rise out.
Anything can become again.
That’s the curse of hope
that can never leave.
Let it go
And let it be.
What a sham,
I’m still fleeing the scene.
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
To assess
To confront
Imposes habits we inhabit;
Abandoning Frontlines,
cutting edges of our tongues
It's a mess
These rituals,
The traditional,
Routines accustomed
to create
to discover
Or to contort
Something beautiful,
Something yours
Falling burdened
On others
On self
On all
That scale with which we weigh;
The impaling thoughts
Of what we judge
Easily it's forgotten,
Of which is the feather,
And of which is the heart,
Yet the parallel truth,
Weathers the sharpness
Of this voice
That assesses
That shames,
That hates,
Of what opinion makes,
That loves.
If anything is to be good,
The label could never be
If we were without
Our self-appointed
Inner-conjecture.
Empower the potential
To suffer
To gamble
For something greater
To be granted an outside worth
That cannot be undone
Consequently comes
My failure to understand
To interpret
To make sense of
Any persons request
"Not to judge"
The doubt of yourself
Begs to cast away
Your sterling
Efforts;
Greater meanings
From us
From you
can inspire a world
can bring about changes
previously unthought
To parse
In part
Of this wager,
Chance itself
Becomes real
With dangers
That dance
Around lines
never drawn.
Follow this step
Break this silence,
Go ahead and judge
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
Whether rooted or buried,
Weathered truths amuse as charity
Towards the crude and the sharing,
In hopes of proving some clarity.
Yet it’s with this first link; a chain is born.
Forged and tempered by a speech,
Or foul and tampered with our reach,
It is still what is grown that comes away as fruit,
but not of the poisonous tree;
With Flourishing and budding flora,
hoping of whats to come we call fairly, sorta,
in pairings of tones from both of
the muttering and the daring,
From of all who wonder of these
latent seeds to be considered as
“of the unborn.”
But if by a birth that is to be controlled,
then a yield may become trodden,
Flattened and rotten, just as any fabrics lathered in hardships become tattered and spotted
until they are torn.
Left finally, truly forgotten
Then presumably silently and
Sworn to be compassionately
And delightfully alone.
Albeit, the same chance remains
without this touch of authority,
For be it where wonder may not dismiss,
And where judgement stops glaring,
an illusion of autonomy finds the disguise
Of a choice tending to a worth
Inherently unknown.
Where is it, i ask,
Where may two sides of the same coin
Argue upon their price?
Why may a currency ingrained with such a bickering inexplicable thought wage this necessity of war?
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
You stay away
You set the date
To Saturday
To separate
Your sedative
That stains away
The suns you save
For rainy days - but hold up, wait
The sun keeps coming back
So easy we think we tame
Any meaning to be for us, where’s the shame?
Tell the truth.
You know we’re last
In the thoughts of grace
And if the past is coming soon,
How much did we choose to waste?
We know we’re not here to last
And we hope for someone to be.
Goodbye ideation, hello future.
Welcome to a world I once dreamt for there to be
If you ever have a chance to visit,
You’ll know you’ve made it
When memory can’t afford to remember your dreams.
It’s closer than you can believe.
Tell the truth
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
As I beg your pardon over our poisoned dirt,
setting winds blow in their ways,
Taunting with a darkened choices worth;
Unsettling timid woes find my ear to chase.
Do I only want you to recognize a hardship
Over yours?
Lest missing your notice, it's among our costly blood the greater value finds your time in its place.
Even if beaten, meek, gentle and burnt,
is it all a guise to distract where the shared and shining limelight may lay?
I cannot find truth nor belief to abide by such a case to occur
Yet here unsure I remain,
Begging your pardon to endure
And to stay
As a lent ear, even if but to act as listening;
Posturing to feign
To become of the gathering I could not ever believe to be made
Is what I ask for an audience,
Your observance or
For merely a witness to a pain
That has humbled myself so harshly,
That to share would be to shame?
Again, oh - how it grows absurd,
I see my intent becoming misaligned within my aim.
Truly I beg your pardon,
Please avoid this inner conflict I display
To neglect the gift upon me you've poured,
I could not grant a greater thanks.
Among a sterile world bothered by irredeemable landscapes and sores, I concede today;
To stop poisoning the well that may offer the truest help
and our safest escape
Onwards and upwards,
There's a gift for you that with hope
I'll create
Outwards then forward,
To all, I offer all of me that you may take.
The world can never be mine
Except in what I can aid
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
The gates of Hell are sworn to bore
Ghiberti’s doors that guard their shore.
For who sets fate if truth is tore?
With paths that shine and gleam,
Leaves binds of souls unseen;
From grace I watched her gently fall,
A treacherous path that roots the wall.
Where pride arose where love was small,
My humility stayed,
A hostage left to fade.
Good intentions poured as stone,
This walkway hardened, now my own.
Paradise by man we've known,
Life doubts the gilded lies,
While truth within it blinds.
An angel came with wings of wind,
A blessing soaked in pains unhinged.
Attention traced through sins, we grinned.
I listened, voice restrained,
Still trembled when set aflame.
Foolishly, I tried to start,
Belief held firm within my heart.
Deceived by pretense from our start,
God selects a tool,
To reward a fool.
The truth we chase remains unseen,
Through gates of Hell with skies serene.
Our hearts endure the in-between.
What a rhythm to find if these gates still remember me.
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(Apologies, I could not find an option for cinqopet or iambic tetrameter, so labeling as rhyme)
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
We will be satisfied.
Not with outspoken logics
Nor through facades routed in action.
This I testify, sourced from a future suppressed;
Like you I admit to be without guarantee,
Yet certain in a neurotic fashion still I express,
We will be satisfied.
Without need of the gentle approach of demotics,
Spots of the grounding denote in my passions,
Guiding to crests over hills towards our approach of where we want our wishes to be;
Amid the tongues and throats of those wary ambitions, there follows a setting tone we must address before any further you and I become burdened in truly separating.
Like you, eclipsed from the epistemic
I can provide no founded clarity
However without weights to add towards what I wish to explain,
Envision the loss of restraint towards an attempt to remove bias, abandoning the self to discipline the taste to dream;
To train a palette solely in recognizing its own strengths, being honest beyond the tame.
A growth not in praise, rather through faults famed for life to need.
So let it be my admission
No prospect of progress may hide behind this delusion I spare to the world unwittingly.
With time by our side, what is beyond doubt and undeniable are not the same.
One holds a chance for the day to be seen
Not in defense, no...
rather, be it in hopes of the ever-turning cheek;
I can almost feel a debt from the hands of fate to grant this necessity for our tarnished, lost, ravaged, our forgotten and salvaged to become of what it ought to cost,
simply and utterly free.
Although it may be as a madman I speak.
We will be satisfied
And as our brothers keepers,
just as with the safety we provide
for when our sisters or mothers weep,
What threatens the love of our people,
Let us not forget of the monsters they can turn us to be.
We are not as broken as those who've been living with a missing piece;
Even if torn apart, there's a peace within they cannot ever see.
Maybe it will not be justice for us to have
Unless time allows words to grow new meanings
And its sands bury our woes and furies as bones,
Forfeiting the chance to proclaim as they seed.
There will come the day,
After we can fall among a world that will pick us up
Before we can help another for we could not beat the rush
Near when the taxmen grows absent of greed,
Not in the not-ever
But in the tomorrow we know there can be
When this beauty shares our breath
We will all be satisfied.
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
The price of a lie follows with a debt to truth,
Twice the size
to honor what was meant
And whom it went through;
In the light of my eye,
borrowed from my mind,
A memory of a person
Has been said
To have consumed,
Is it an apple missing
Or that of Adam and Eve's
Garden now entombed
I went ahead and stole
From those famed
Glimpses of fate
And I let it be with my burning grips
to cause and create
an irreparable split
to eden's trace,
from that birth bed of sin
in between and coming away
with the embers flying off those insufferable wretched gardens
known for their following,
flowing and fatherless flames.
Maybe I'll try to find a prayer for some rain.
Now with that mentioned price of the lie,
If without a target but myself for it to fruit
Is what I meant
what will come
In an attempt to cry
Albeit,
A cry for the moon?
Is it still a lie
If it's language that fails
and a body's prayer
falls victim to the weakness
of its wounds
Unable
Yet willing
Like a mouth sewn and screwed
wanting to shout
needing to scream
But it becomes the doubt
It becomes the metal and strings
They obey;
Threads forming a rule
And yet without a crown
They find it king
As if there were
Anything else to choose.
While subjected
To this liability
we breathe
to assume
I'll try to listen for a voice
with the right words to say,
Even if they're perfect,
I believe
Anything I will hear,
It's here where they're said only but
a moment too late
Maybe this is how life
Collects what its due
Maybe because even
If not myself,
Something out there
Truly understood
That to pay the price,
You owe it to yourself
Even if it means
there will come a mountain
For you to move
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
At ten til two, some lie awake,
Attending too sighs we ruminate;
Ten and two, love drives to where sunlight hides and waits,
Yet in pursuit, nights erode of what chance may make.
Amending truths our tomorrows wake,
And then the soon borrows the hours late.
Despite red moons raising tides like fate,
Attentive proof reminds of the coming breaks.
We can never know of what tomorrow craves.
Certainty can speak with gentle lips, for words to slate;
What more can 2026 be other than its falling flake?
Rationality adores the harvests they slickly take,
And arrogantly still, I feel tomorrow's grip ought to be sold a bit too late.
’Tis but another tomorrow that hides among many tricks, where ideas apprehend our stakes.
It’s with hope that follows the light that empties their mix, so plans can lessen the opaque.
While tending to sleep to grow the want to wake,
Let this be proof to find of what I may create; I can shape.
The new year is all but a day, and with love I plague every chance I’m given to make new mistakes,
And of the new choices yet to decay.
2026, I have hope for your ache.
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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Noah Piet Poem
Regardless of the commitment,
Something of the spirit always wants to feel free
Regardless of the commitment,
It’s at its purest when led astray but for a moment to see, if both parties come back to the ways of which they wish they went, now breathe.
Someone will make a mistake,
Hopefully you, and hopefully in their dreams.
Only means, you’re lucky enough to have one of the better ones, not one who schemes.
Regardless of the commitment, it’s only but a dream.
Dreams can come true, nightmares can too,
Or you can just be waking up in bed again,
Where do you want your path to lead?
Regardless of the commitment, you can always leave. Before you ever sought one out, alone you should find peace, so you can be not only what someone else will enjoy but give yourself a chance for your own love's deeds.
Love yourself before seeking out that dream
And regardless of the commitment, consciously commit to treating those of significance as the human they are within.
Treat as if you were me and 'they' were 'we'
There's so much love,
Don't let the rush burn with its steam.
Copyright © Noah Piet | Year Posted 2025
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