A poet is an endless ocean,
Tempestuous and wild, yet serene and beautiful,
Scrap and treasure, in its unknown motion,
Their emotions erratic, yet their poems dutiful,
A reader is a frivolous fish,
The ocean parts its waves for them,
Exploring those fragile depths, it’s only wish,
It understands, yet it never reaches out,
The waves now seem unsteady,
Swashing in solitude, chest laid bare,
The poet seeks not an inspected wound, but a rejuvenating embrace,
But they lay unreceived, is it not unfair?
Now that same fish has almost reached the border,
To cross into another vulnerable vat of water,
The reader leaves their temporary love,
In search of another dazzling decay,
Poet,
Reader,
Their bond, intimate yet empty,
Even now, they stand separated by stanza.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 8:41 PM UTC
I can recall a winter, surrounded by friends,
For a moment, I forgot how my heart shivered,
They bathed me in heat, soon to end,
The moon grinned down sardonically,
It watched as I forced glaciers between us,
I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly,
The warm embrace they gave, oddly bittersweet,
That distance between us, still un-leaped,
The lesson I would soon learn, not yet complete,
For each piece of the puzzle I added,
A new, colder gap was conceived,
Yet I tried not to solve it, it was so candid,
The truth is that no external heat can warm my heart,
That no amount of intimacy could melt my eternal winter,
The truth is,
That I make myself alone.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 8:37 PM UTC
My hands, reach out to connect,
To feel an intimate embrace,
Yet a part of me must reject,
That warm look on their face,
My hands, stained with guilt,
Slip away, leaving me cold and alone,
Those once close, now gone,
The disguise of warmth I once wore, now blown,
My hands, lined with thorns,
***** those who attempt to thaw me out,
And I convince myself-
I couldn’t help but hurt them, there’s no doubt,
My hands, a warning of who I am,
A product of my cowardice,
My apprehension to commit
And my refusal,
To hold on.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 8:52 PM UTC
I have a friend, he doesn’t speak,
He hides and frowns so often,
So I decided to raise him
He seemed happy, learning the sword
I would wield the bloodstained blade,
He would flinch, but he needed to learn,
When we trained, my world was in an eternal spring,
The morning light amplifying my radiant smile,
Yet for all my efforts, he still seemed shy,
He must worry to hurt others,
A natural feeling, once taught by me,
Now winter arrives, and he asks for more-
To confide me in me,
Though I can’t seem to care,
My urge seeks some place elsewhere,
In search of another student.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 7:32 PM UTC
I carefully plough the soil,
Gently guiding the ground to part,
My muscles ache and my faith wavers,
Yet my unyielding passion leads my art,
My crop shyly peers its head out,
Greeted with my ripe heart,
Alleviating its fear of drought,
And so I rush to share my part,
Yet their eyes do not glance my way,
My crop fails to grow,
And my ripe heart bursts,
It’s passion rotting unnoticed
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 5:24 PM UTC