Answer me, torn up world
When did you exactly become so torn?
Was it the birth of man
Or simply has it been since earth began
I’m wondering,
If all there is to the world is grey,
Can there be a black and white?
I’m stuck inside a silent illusion,
Wearing my spirit down
Withering kindness,
Crowds filled with blindness
Are we nearing the end right now?
My broken dream is brighter than light,
I can’t stay and wait to be seen.
I am a phoenix,
You’ll have to believe it
I’m the king of a darkened crown.
But no one else seems to believe it,
No one knows my name.
Like a star in the endless breath
Of a universe destined to die,
A universe destined to lie,
Oh a universe isn’t of purpose,
It’s the reason.
Tell me, world,
Are you torn
Or was I a fool for reading between the lines?
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 8:05 PM UTC
A ring of fire, born of man’s desire, to question life and death, between the cracks of knowledge and action. A simple phrase appears in thought, simple as sound and yet powerfully taught. From duty there is a presence of allegiance and respect, in both respects, to others and respect for yourself, and from it comes discipline, when respect becomes engraved into the earth and its bones, like a fossil. And from which appears prosperity, a stable peace between order and longing, like a midday prayer between the sun and the moon, who share a humble, clear sky hazed with dashes of pink and yellow. Calming and bright, but clear as life could possibly be. A sky which filters the blazing heat of the sun and glaring darkness the moon hides in front of, into a beautiful mosaic of stars and good fortune. Destined to be, a ring of fire, circling around man’s head and striking the real human spirit in its core—how can we expect goodness in an old town, so torn?
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 8:56 PM UTC
Everywhere I look
and see,
there is judgment.
On every face,
smile,
grin,
pair of eyes—
all measure me quietly,
like a river gauging the strength of its banks.
In every push,
every word,
every written note,
every post,
judgment flows, slow but relentless.
I ask,
“Why?”
to the light within my heart,
but another voice answers—
quiet, sharp, unyielding.
It recalls a tree
that offered good and evil,
and whispers that the shadowed seed lives in all.
Yet I have not been claimed.
The virtues I carry form a shield
that bends the dark away,
and the walls I have built
hold the echo of my certainty.
Cement stacked with care,
brick upon brick,
forms my joy.
On the walls hang color,
signs of love,
and human brilliance—
a gallery of minds that refused to bow.
They are solid, static,
offering glimpses of what could be
if good had held sway.
But cracks appear.
Hairline fractures
and smears of damp in corners
whisper that the shadow moves.
Judgment seeps through the mortar,
quiet as smoke.
Yet I walk these halls,
unshaken.
Let the curse spread;
let the world crumble slowly.
I have time,
and the walls will hold
while I roam their echoing breadth.
Satan lurks in subtle ways,
a figure behind the eyes,
in the bend of each thought,
but still—there is hope for me.
In centuries, the walls may fall.
The skies will have already welcomed me,
and I will stand,
a witness
to what remains.
I do not fear the collapse.
I do not plead.
I will hold my laughter
soft as ash,
sharp as glass,
and it will belong entirely to me.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 10:38 PM UTC
Oh, my vivid memory—
there is no break in your whisper
You wake my ear each night.
Leave my mind alone…
I know my fate is set in stone.
I despise myself in broken rage;
no prayer can heal me, no breath of sage.
My body trembles now.
Through empty streets I drift, afraid.
***** money in my wallet—
a horrid crime, some might call it.
I thought it would free my soul, somehow;
But instead it hunts me down.
Sweet, untold mistakes I’ve made.
The fog creeps closer.
My heart hides behind a masquerade.
If the whisper will not forgive me,
how could I forgive myself?
Perhaps I
stand at the edge of my own judgment…
Would God forgive me?
Bless me?
Or laugh at my foolishness?
I scream and people see me—
dead inside,
Yet unmistakably alive
as the whisper begs me to
jump.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 3:04 PM UTC
What I would give for one more eve with you
My love.
I think about what you said to me
The day you departed.
“Never forget me, I’ll always love you.”
But how can this be true, when you have abandoned that very love?
————————————-
My love,
I carry enormous weight
Within my heart.
It becomes heavier every day that passes
And I cannot be led on like this.
I beg the lord,
With a cross in my hand,
To hand you back
For I will work hard,
Harder than anyone has before,
I will earn and not sin
I will resist and not burn.
————————————-
My love,
Whether or not you love me,
I no longer care.
You are ignorant,
A mosquito that I cannot slap away,
And I despite you for it.
Stop speaking to me,
It’s been years
Since I’ve spoken to you.
————————————-
My love,
I have earned this
I have toiled and struggled
Under the sun,
For longer than I planned to.
And now a new flame of love has been lit.
The wood is brittle and old,
And its flame is weak of doubt,
But it gives me warmth
You no longer offer.
————————————-
My love,
I miss you.
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
But no matter how okay I feel,
You cannot come back.
The flame I spoke about has invaded my heart
And engulfed me in happiness.
I am happy,
Thank you for letting me believe in the world
Once again.
I love you to the moon and back.
Forever without end,
Yours until time dies,
Even if you cannot remain
Mine.
My love
is yours.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 6:04 PM UTC
Mother Earth calls for me,
Though
I am only a poor, grey bird
On the verge of collapsing
Beneath the gleam of her sun.
And her voice,
Giving me hope,
Lifts my wings once more
To float upon her dizzying air.
Then I remember
My somber song,
Which spared me from the wind
That would never let go.
I felt comfort in the ground
That left me in the unknown,
And this memory kept me sane
Throughout Mother Earth’s song.
For I knew
She was more lost than I,
Distracted by her vibrant green,
While I was free at last.
And so,
With my mind melting at the scene,
I cut my left wing—
And fell toward her naked lands.
Truly flying once more, she called to me in worry:
“Little bird, little bird, what are you doing?”
And I called back, in whispers loud enough for her ears
But quiet enough that insanity
Would not wake my soul once more:
“Don’t you know?
I am more sane than you.”
So sophisticated I was
For a poor grey bird.
My eyes were always closed
Among the absent-minded flock.
I told them—many times—
To look closer,
For they flew, surely,
Toward destruction.
But they could not escape.
Life had only just begun for me—
An insignificant grain of sand.
Nothing truly mattered.
And as I neared her ground,
My feathers burned in anticipation—
My fall, a blaze of truth and wonder
Against Mother’s evil heart.
Time? There was none.
Love? There was none.
Malice? There was none.
Only my firework,
Soon to be absorbed by the shadows
Before even a glimpse of truth
Could reach them.
In tears, Mother cried out:
“Please! Save your soul!”
Now there was only I—
And sadness for the world.
How terrible a life
Led by a blind shepherd.
Finally,
I could see very well:
The darkness of her ground,
And the secrets beneath the beauty.
And in my heart
A somber song found its way through my beak,
Out into the air,
Carried by fate’s wind for long—
Longer still:
“Don’t you know?
I am more sane than you.”
And there was time.
And there was love.
They left with me in the end.
“Farewell,”
I said to the malice.
“I pray for you,
brethren.”
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 11:45 PM UTC
The rain only pours for a short while.
And so, the parched flower
enjoys its presence
to the utmost.
And in the tears of pollen,
a constant yearning
keeps her empty through the night.
By God’s will,
her roots are sufficiently filled—
the little smidgen needed to survive.
To live and breathe the liquid gold
becomes her purpose.
The evasive storm,
expected when she most blooms,
daren’t give poor marigold the time of day.
Left in the piercing sun, she is,
to dry and decay.
But, marigold is only one of many.
Her petals move seductively with the breeze,
Teasing, hoping to draw in the rain.
But his attention lies in the fields ahead,
her beauty matched
by roses and daffodils
Passion, and brightness.
Marigold is pretty,
but the others are heavenly.
She sees the rain’s favor,
His lust
Every
Single
Spring.
Though, even so,
she pursues his soft
pitter-patter
and nourishing touch,
wishing to—until the gracing wind
scatters her ashes across the sky.
Her toil, however, remains in vain,
for the rain can have no commitment.
No—she isn’t elegant enough.
And still, even if he truly desired
to remain and care
for such soft, drooping petals,
her deadly, putrid scent
and worn-out stem—
too long would he have lingered,
long enough for a flood
to engulf the land she called home.
His selfish ways would never let him see
how marigold’s fate
was sealed
the moment she became ensnared
in his intoxicating game
O brutal acid rain.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 9:56 PM UTC
All my strength, thrown away
You were the one, until today
We were playing a game
But I didn’t know the rules.
My courage, commitment
Thrown away.
I’m one with the waves
Pulled down to the ocean floor
Smiles
warmth
I could not ignore,
Pulled down and cast aside.
Loving you was all I had
And thus, is my demise.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 7:09 PM UTC
I grab onto my sheets of paper, the assignments, the books.
I cling onto them, though the wind blows harder and begins to free them from my grasp.
I entertained a battle with life that has been created crooked, and fought with nature’s form of release.
I stopped asking; why is the wind doing this to me?
And began to question why my grasp was so tight, on something so insignificant.
That’s when I realized that my focus on defying reality led to everything else around collapsing.
I sacrificed what I loved for grades that did not love me back.
So I let go completely, and let the wind take me somewhere.
Off, into a world I didn’t know I needed.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 10:13 PM UTC
I gifted you my heart
That I had found on the side of the road
My heart, which did not know identity.
I did not know my heart could break,
So easily.
But I gifted it
I do not know if my heart
Could be loved
And cared for
Like a rose in the garden
Yet I gifted it.
I could not feel
My heart, myself.
That is in part why
I gifted it.
So you could take it,
And love it,
And so I could call that heart mine.
But instead I gifted it to you,
And you let it die.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 10:49 PM UTC