UnnamedHeart - Hello Poetry

I stood too close. The angle lied. A tiny statue, petrified, Cast out a shadow, long and grand, Across the corners of my land. I wore no glasses, yet a lens Of polished magic would commence To feed a vision through the eye, Where nerves and biological wires fly, Past signals flashing in the skull, To where the soul sits, deep and full. A world of vast, immense devotion Not some small, fleeting human emotion Where jokes you whispered in the air Sat heavier than a sermon’s prayer. Maybe the shadow spoke the truth; Maybe the blindness was my youth. Admiration, in the night, Is just a name for bad eyesight. We are both human, bound to clay, Walking a different moral framework. And when you act on what you hold, It leaves my outer climate cold. The friction makes the world appear Unjust, unfair, and locked in fear. But these heavy, warring, bitter things Are birds that fly on earthly wings; They dwell right here, they rot in dust, Where mortal iron turns to rust. And in this narrow world below, Life is too vast a thing to grow To waste my short, remaining days Scratching the surface of your ways. For all we see, and all we seem, Is but a dream within a dream. One day the heavy eyelids break, And everything will matter when we wake. Until that morning, I design A sweet defiance in the spine, To find a joy in endless tasks Beneath these temporary masks. They say that happiness is free A simple choice for you and me. But there’s a paradox in the bone: I choose to leave your knife alone, I choose to stop the inward bleeding, But can I force the joy I’m needing? The brain can pick the grief it wears, But happiness has higher stairs. So if you carry grudges now, Or sharpen blades to make me bow, It is alright. The dirt can have it. I will not feed a bitter habit. You are no judge; you hold no scale, And I am not your prisoner in a jail. We stand beneath a higher ceiling, Where Someone watches what we're feeling; He sees the blade, He sees the side, On everyone's behalf He died. I hear the statue start to crack, Shrinking to its actual stature back. I do not hate you; you owe me naught, For lessons cannot well be bought. My eyes connect to brain and heart, And feeling is the living part. So carry knives, and carry blame— I’ll carry the lesson, and forget the name.

0

1d ago

Jun 3, 2026 at 7:57 AM UTC

The Architecture of Bad Eyesight (notes on admiration)

I stood too close. The angle lied. A tiny statue, petrified, Cast out a shadow, long and grand, Across the corners of my land. I wore no glasses, yet a lens Of polished magic would commence To feed a vision through the eye, Where nerves and biological wires fly, Past signals flashing in the skull, To where the soul sits, deep and full. A world of vast, immense devotion Not some small, fleeting human emotion Where jokes you whispered in the air Sat heavier than a sermon’s prayer. Maybe the shadow spoke the truth; Maybe the blindness was my youth. Admiration, in the night, Is just a name for bad eyesight. We are both human, bound to clay, Walking a different moral framework. And when you act on what you hold, It leaves my outer climate cold. The friction makes the world appear Unjust, unfair, and locked in fear. But these heavy, warring, bitter things Are birds that fly on earthly wings; They dwell right here, they rot in dust, Where mortal iron turns to rust. And in this narrow world below, Life is too vast a thing to grow To waste my short, remaining days Scratching the surface of your ways. For all we see, and all we seem, Is but a dream within a dream. One day the heavy eyelids break, And everything will matter when we wake. Until that morning, I design A sweet defiance in the spine, To find a joy in endless tasks Beneath these temporary masks. They say that happiness is free A simple choice for you and me. But there’s a paradox in the bone: I choose to leave your knife alone, I choose to stop the inward bleeding, But can I force the joy I’m needing? The brain can pick the grief it wears, But happiness has higher stairs. So if you carry grudges now, Or sharpen blades to make me bow, It is alright. The dirt can have it. I will not feed a bitter habit. You are no judge; you hold no scale, And I am not your prisoner in a jail. We stand beneath a higher ceiling, Where Someone watches what we're feeling; He sees the blade, He sees the side, On everyone's behalf He died. I hear the statue start to crack, Shrinking to its actual stature back. I do not hate you; you owe me naught, For lessons cannot well be bought. My eyes connect to brain and heart, And feeling is the living part. So carry knives, and carry blame— I’ll carry the lesson, and forget the name.

66

Your eyes are a city of sorrow, And I am a refugee within. They outshine the moon You shot me a glance—swift as a spear— And I fell, though you were far and I had no wound. Two angels sleep in your gaze, yet wake to judge my heart. Beneath their wings flow rivers clear as polished glass, Where currents carry the reflections of heaven to the earth, And teach the soul to linger where time forgets to pass. A fragrance follows you that no garden could contain; It lingers in the soul as rain lingers on spring soil. Dew gathers on my heart as though it were a tender leaf, Drinking your kindness at dawn, preserving what would otherwise wither. For wherever your gaze settles, barren ground awakens, And even the dust begins to smell of roses. If I am granted another life beyond this one, let me find you there; And if there are a thousand lives to follow, let me lose myself in each of them the same way. Let every road return me to your door, every river to your name, Until eternity itself grows weary of counting our meetings.

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6d ago

May 29, 2026 at 3:19 PM UTC

Nothing of You Is Foreign to Me

Your eyes are a city of sorrow, And I am a refugee within. They outshine the moon You shot me a glance—swift as a spear— And I fell, though you were far and I had no wound. Two angels sleep in your gaze, yet wake to judge my heart. Beneath their wings flow rivers clear as polished glass, Where currents carry the reflections of heaven to the earth, And teach the soul to linger where time forgets to pass. A fragrance follows you that no garden could contain; It lingers in the soul as rain lingers on spring soil. Dew gathers on my heart as though it were a tender leaf, Drinking your kindness at dawn, preserving what would otherwise wither. For wherever your gaze settles, barren ground awakens, And even the dust begins to smell of roses. If I am granted another life beyond this one, let me find you there; And if there are a thousand lives to follow, let me lose myself in each of them the same way. Let every road return me to your door, every river to your name, Until eternity itself grows weary of counting our meetings.

18

Have I doubt, When the lights go low, I have a sore throat, tea to melt snow, Your name in my mouth tastes holy, like ice wine Melt the sugar, on the tip of my tongue Love is a warm, thick honey settling on my hair It wraps like a wet duvet fresh from the rain, It’s a cold hurt, stiffened by the air, Though I am drunk, addicted to the pain. Zingiber crushed beneath my tongue, sharp and gold, The sweet-burn ache I almost don’t want cured, A cough rising deep, rough and assured, I hold it, swallow it, let it sting, Then break and the relief is everything. Heat beads at my forehead, bright and undone, Skin flushed open like a second sun, Until your lips, cool as night air, Press my forehead, and spare The hardship that I couldn't bear And all that fire folds in two, Burning for me, but eased by you. Stroke through my hair like a match through flame, Say my name like you’re not ashamed, Let the dark press close, let the ceiling spin, Let the fire move slowly under my skin. Your pulse against mine a dangerous tune, A low hunger, a sun that rises too soon, My hands learn the shape of wanting you near, Like heat in the dark that feeds on my fear. The room starts spinning but we stand still, Like gravity bending to some deeper will, My ribs feel split with something vast, Like night itself is breathing fast, I lose my name, I lose what’s true, And all that’s left is reaching you. With love I rise, with doubt the dark returns and turns, Your touch ignites, it bites, it burns, it burns, The sky at night black and white, the green and blue A bruise and a blessing breaking through What’s in a name? Just air and blame, a chain that keeps us together. A rose would glow, and still would grow, though stripped of all its signs So take me now, don’t ask me how, let stars and worlds align Say it soft, say it loud your heart is mine, is mine

0

Mar 1

Mar 1, 2026 at 1:25 PM UTC

Romantic Fever

Have I doubt, When the lights go low, I have a sore throat, tea to melt snow, Your name in my mouth tastes holy, like ice wine Melt the sugar, on the tip of my tongue Love is a warm, thick honey settling on my hair It wraps like a wet duvet fresh from the rain, It’s a cold hurt, stiffened by the air, Though I am drunk, addicted to the pain. Zingiber crushed beneath my tongue, sharp and gold, The sweet-burn ache I almost don’t want cured, A cough rising deep, rough and assured, I hold it, swallow it, let it sting, Then break and the relief is everything. Heat beads at my forehead, bright and undone, Skin flushed open like a second sun, Until your lips, cool as night air, Press my forehead, and spare The hardship that I couldn't bear And all that fire folds in two, Burning for me, but eased by you. Stroke through my hair like a match through flame, Say my name like you’re not ashamed, Let the dark press close, let the ceiling spin, Let the fire move slowly under my skin. Your pulse against mine a dangerous tune, A low hunger, a sun that rises too soon, My hands learn the shape of wanting you near, Like heat in the dark that feeds on my fear. The room starts spinning but we stand still, Like gravity bending to some deeper will, My ribs feel split with something vast, Like night itself is breathing fast, I lose my name, I lose what’s true, And all that’s left is reaching you. With love I rise, with doubt the dark returns and turns, Your touch ignites, it bites, it burns, it burns, The sky at night black and white, the green and blue A bruise and a blessing breaking through What’s in a name? Just air and blame, a chain that keeps us together. A rose would glow, and still would grow, though stripped of all its signs So take me now, don’t ask me how, let stars and worlds align Say it soft, say it loud your heart is mine, is mine

40

Row, my brother, row with the wind, The stars above no longer sing. The night is cold, the waves are wide But none return on the turning tide. Enough, enough Oh ocean, you beast, you mouth of graves, You salt-veined god with no mercy to save. You took my son, his eyes still bright, You dragged him down in the black of night. You took my girl, just twenty-two, He wore her ring, and loved her true. My heart, my helm, my morning light, You tore her breath with storm and spite. The winds were foul, and the work was hard, But I still begged beneath your stars. I begged you then. I curse you now. I spit at your depths, and I don't bow. Four months (and the fifth is here), I row through salt, through ghosts, through fear. The voyage is done, and the winds don’t blow But I cannot leave her down below. Bring them back Bring them, bring them, Give them back Sailing, singing, silent now. Aren’t you afraid of God, oh ocean? Or did He send you, oh ocean?

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Jun 28, 2025

Jun 28, 2025 at 10:27 AM UTC

A Sea Shanty

Row, my brother, row with the wind, The stars above no longer sing. The night is cold, the waves are wide But none return on the turning tide. Enough, enough Oh ocean, you beast, you mouth of graves, You salt-veined god with no mercy to save. You took my son, his eyes still bright, You dragged him down in the black of night. You took my girl, just twenty-two, He wore her ring, and loved her true. My heart, my helm, my morning light, You tore her breath with storm and spite. The winds were foul, and the work was hard, But I still begged beneath your stars. I begged you then. I curse you now. I spit at your depths, and I don't bow. Four months (and the fifth is here), I row through salt, through ghosts, through fear. The voyage is done, and the winds don’t blow But I cannot leave her down below. Bring them back Bring them, bring them, Give them back Sailing, singing, silent now. Aren’t you afraid of God, oh ocean? Or did He send you, oh ocean?

27

We drift so softly, still break in the end, Moon rising faintly, no path to ascend. The pull to step out, To let the sound drown out, A fleeting dawn, too bright to stay, Soft embers lost to yesterday What remains? The place, the time, the shadow stains. You falter, play, let it slide, First you feel The tide subside, And what’s left Lingers in your mind. Hands stained with the weight of days, If there's no truth to chase, no one to praise, I'll still laugh beneath this heavy sky, And push the stone, though I don't know why, And clutch the fallout, though I don't know why.

0

May 30, 2025

May 30, 2025 at 5:27 AM UTC

A Soft Ending, A Heavy Sky

We drift so softly, still break in the end, Moon rising faintly, no path to ascend. The pull to step out, To let the sound drown out, A fleeting dawn, too bright to stay, Soft embers lost to yesterday What remains? The place, the time, the shadow stains. You falter, play, let it slide, First you feel The tide subside, And what’s left Lingers in your mind. Hands stained with the weight of days, If there's no truth to chase, no one to praise, I'll still laugh beneath this heavy sky, And push the stone, though I don't know why, And clutch the fallout, though I don't know why.

18

The bus was late This morning I miss you

0

Apr 11, 2025

Apr 11, 2025 at 10:36 AM UTC

satire

The bus was late This morning I miss you

4

One step, one shot, one final breath. I walk through war, I talk to death. He never speaks, but I still know Not yet, not yet. There's more to go.

0

Mar 18, 2025

Mar 18, 2025 at 2:19 PM UTC

One Final Effort

One step, one shot, one final breath. I walk through war, I talk to death. He never speaks, but I still know Not yet, not yet. There's more to go.

4

I have wounded mine own heart, Yet naught but blood it yields. Shall I forever dwell apart, In failure's barren fields? Must this scar, so crimson-red, Proclaim me weak and frail? Or doth my spirit rise instead, And let my torment sail? Shalt thou remain a failure evermore? Or rise, and claim the strength thou hadst before?

0

Mar 16, 2025

Mar 16, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC

Am I My Wounds?

I have wounded mine own heart, Yet naught but blood it yields. Shall I forever dwell apart, In failure's barren fields? Must this scar, so crimson-red, Proclaim me weak and frail? Or doth my spirit rise instead, And let my torment sail? Shalt thou remain a failure evermore? Or rise, and claim the strength thou hadst before?

10

I'd rather die young than fade into grey, A song left unfinished, unsung to this day. God willed my fate, but I’ve bent to none, The drink I’ve spilled, the damage is done. A flicker of a spark from the stone, Flickers into ashes—let it burn.

0

Mar 16, 2025

Mar 16, 2025 at 4:41 PM UTC

Romanticized Self-Destruction.

I'd rather die young than fade into grey, A song left unfinished, unsung to this day. God willed my fate, but I’ve bent to none, The drink I’ve spilled, the damage is done. A flicker of a spark from the stone, Flickers into ashes—let it burn.

6

What a strange request To beg the dawn to sleep once more, To bid the tide retreat, forget The footsteps swallowed on the shore. Alright now then, what’s next? The turning page, the ink that bleeds, The tethered soul who dares reflect A child’s dream lost in grown men’s deeds. Mourn me the wonder in my eyes, For in its place, a hollow gloom, No star remains, Only the shadow of a bloom. Never thought I’d hold those days Like yellowed scrolls in trembling hands, Illiterate to youth’s own phrase, Yet reading now what time demands. How can it be? This ticking crime, this slow betrayal dressed in time? This slow betrayal robed in grace? Let me vanish in their wake.

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC

Left Ajar

What a strange request To beg the dawn to sleep once more, To bid the tide retreat, forget The footsteps swallowed on the shore. Alright now then, what’s next? The turning page, the ink that bleeds, The tethered soul who dares reflect A child’s dream lost in grown men’s deeds. Mourn me the wonder in my eyes, For in its place, a hollow gloom, No star remains, Only the shadow of a bloom. Never thought I’d hold those days Like yellowed scrolls in trembling hands, Illiterate to youth’s own phrase, Yet reading now what time demands. How can it be? This ticking crime, this slow betrayal dressed in time? This slow betrayal robed in grace? Let me vanish in their wake.

20