There’re poems upon blank pages
Unwritten, waiting to happen
Messages in spilled ink
Unseen — yet to be deciphered
So I cannot go today
But theres a knot in my throat
and the dew in my eyes won’t dry
There’s a tremble to my nerves
And an ache to my knees
Yet, my soul is tethered to earthen life
So I cannot go today
So up until the wax melts and the final flame dies out
To see where the leaves in Autumn blow south
I cannot go today.
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
Destroy me again until I am nothing more than brittle bones
and leave me so to tremble
naked — kept in a chokehold
See past my masks and
bear me ugly, foolish and cold
So, destroy me again
until you think I know
I find it cold in limbo’s trance
bound in soundless, floating space
— a silent dance
Ah, Solitude knows my name
There’s a black bird that’s singing
It’s kept me at an ache
I hold out my calloused hands,
and it took all that it could take
With cold lips pressed into a thin line
I picked up my thread
and stitched the scars with a cry
There’s a tremble beneath my skin
— it rattles at my bones
teeth pierced my lungs,
and I bleed once more
So lest not to destroy me self
hold that soft, warm bodied
animal of my heart
and tame that wounded beast of my soul
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 3:34 PM UTC
I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.
I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 3:00 PM UTC
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shimmering blaze of every step up.
So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.
But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.
You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a ***
You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.
*Rainer Maria Rilke / The Book of the Hours
(translated by Robert Bly: German)*
S T, 20 July 2013
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 2:58 PM UTC
You are but a mirage
a whisper of memory
In the depths of every sensory
You are but a mirage
Where stories lay acquainted
As scattered pieces appear far, as in a faint breath
Whereby close for the eye
A second late gone with a sigh
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
One day
I will find the pieces of all I had meant and not said
And throw it to the wind.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 7:37 AM UTC
Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! she did depart!
Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 7:15 AM UTC
Perhaps if I were older,
I would have been able to love you better.
I would have held a conversation better --
not with bitter tongues or sharp angles
but with proper words not hidden in a letter
Perhaps if I were older,
I would have understood you better...
But i am a child.
For between love and hate,
if I did a little less,
I would have been able to talk about it more.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC
The feeling of…
It’s as if you feel the warmth breezing through the air the morning after a monsoon.
To see clear roads, dry leaves
and to smell the smell of grass.
And to breathe, and to not simply exist
But to partake in living
And to laugh, and smile and to just feel even the smallest bits of content.
And for once in a long long while, to feel greedy about something.
To want to experience things even with bathed breaths.
To want to shout and be angry at the world for everything that’s defined you.
It’s those mornings that make me think…
Maybe not today.
And maybe.. the reality of it is that life isn’t okay, and we’re always free to choose to end it — but there will be moments that define what it means to be a dreamer.
So yes,
Maybe not today.
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 4:45 AM UTC