Cadmus
Earth, briefly.
Observer of hearts and the quiet things in between. / I write to capture what we feel but rarely say love, longing, memory, and the invisible threads that shape us. / / Inspired by everyday moments, ancient echoes, and the beauty hidden in contradiction.
There’s something in her I won’t name
A hush of wind, a candle flame.
Not made for grasping, not to own,
She is the wild, the seed, the stone.
She doesn’t try to draw the eye,
Yet still, the world forgets the sky.
She moves as though the earth was told
To cradle life in curves of gold.
Her voice? It’s warmth in twilight air,
A lullaby, a whispered prayer.
Her smile? The sun through window panes,
That touches soul before it rains.
She doesn’t rule - and yet, she reigns.
She doesn’t fight - but breaks my chains.
She’s softness made by nature’s hand
To melt the steel in every man.
She speaks in silence, sees in shade,
And somehow knows what’s not yet said.
She tends, she weaves, she kneels to none,
Yet all I am revolves her sun.
I’ve seen her cry - and not from fear,
But from a strength too deep, too near.
A well of life, a boundless sea
That dares to bloom and still be free.
She is the reason poems start,
The gentle architect of heart.
The one who holds without a grip,
Who builds a world with fingertip.
And if the stars should all erase,
I’d find the universe in her face.
For she’s not mine - she’s something more:
The sacred I was made to adore
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 5:06 AM UTC
🤴
Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies hold thinning air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.
You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.
Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.
I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.
So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high commits no crime.
It’s built for those who carve through air
Not those who knock and gasp for prayer.
🤴
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 6:41 AM UTC
👸
He wanted a bride with untouched skin,
A pastless girl he could fold right in.
She said the truth - soft, honest, still:
“I’ve known love… and I’ve known thrill.”
His smile cracked.
His eyes turned cold.
As if her fire made his soul old.
He left - proud. Untouched. Intact.
A man so fragile, truth felt like attack.
Now he prays for purity in the dark,
While she is out - leaving teeth marks
👸
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
There’s something about the way he doesn’t chase…
It’s not the swagger. Not the smirk.
Not the way his shirt clings when he works.
It’s how he doesn’t beg the light
he walks in shadow, and still feels right.
He doesn’t claim me. He just looks
and in that look, he rewrites books.
The kind with knights and velvet beds,
with whispered vows and tangled threads.
He moves like time forgot to rush.
His silence holds a speaking hush.
He doesn’t grab he lets me choose,
And yet I burn if I refuse.
His hands could bruise, but never try.
They trace my skin like lullaby.
He guards, not cages. Leads, not binds
And in his arms, the world unwinds.
He calls me wild. He keeps me free.
He doesn’t need to conquer me.
And still, I’d kneel, I’d bend, I’d melt,
For how his quiet power’s felt.
There’s chivalry in how he waits,
In how he touches no locked gates.
And when he moves, it’s not to own,
But to remind me, I’m not alone.
So here’s to him: the kind of man
Who doesn’t boast, but simply can.
Who wins no throne, but takes command
Just by the way he dares to stand.
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
☔️
The depressed one is not sick,
nor broken,
nor lost to some disorder.
He simply saw the world,
its truths laid bare,
its people unmasked,
and found no beauty
in the ruin beneath.
It wasn’t madness that took him,
but clarity.
And the weight
of so much ugliness
he could not unsee.
☔️
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 7:10 AM UTC
☕️
A man keeps to himself
most of his:
disappointments,
sorrow,
despair,
bitterness,
and his tragedies.
Then one day, he explodes,
If his coffee cup slips from his hand.
☕️
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 3:40 AM UTC
🖤
Like a child running to his mother in tears,
seeking warmth in her arms,
only to be silenced with a slap.
That is the ache of being let down,
right where you thought safety lived.
⛓️💥
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 3:28 AM UTC
💍
She may walk like fire
and speak like wine,
but her lips
carry the ashes
of another man’s home.
Desire is not worth
the ruin you inherit.
No glory is found
in tasting
a betrayal
you didn’t earn.
🖤
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 2:29 AM UTC
She dreams
of what never was.
No man
can match the shape
she carved in absence.
So she stays
half-settled,
half-burning…
Hurting the one who stayed
for not being
the one
who never came.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 4:46 PM UTC
🎭
What I truly feel
doesn’t survive the telling.
It breaks
on the edge of language…
leaving only
a softened version
for others to understand.
while the real thing
keeps burning quietly
where no words can reach.
🎭
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 4:41 PM UTC