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 Feb 12 Angharad
Emma
swan glides through the mist,  

rippling glass of tranquil lakes,  

nature's breath in peace.
St Paul's feast day today we get a public holiday ❣️
 Feb 6 Angharad
Cassian
you
 Feb 6 Angharad
Cassian
you
Can you still see me

Standing in this dark room

Talking to the memory of you

Your hand is back in my hair

The love is still there

Just like you never left

But that is not my life

I couldn't sit pretty

To let you create a pretty lie

And now I'm here and for all I know..

You may have died.
Can we ever be friends?
Or is our weird collection
Of unfinished business
Far beyond repair?
Could a thing so broken somehow work?
Tell me, my dear
Do you really hate me?
Or are you just mad that
I opened the Pandora's
Box inside your head?
God knows what you'll find there...
 Jan 31 Angharad
badwords
Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.
Nicotine is a tightly structured, lyrical poem that explores the tension between fleeting comforts and the greater aspirations we often neglect. Using nicotine as both a literal and metaphorical device, the poem examines the small indulgences we cling to—despite knowing their cost—drawing a parallel to the broader human tendency to accept self-deception for the sake of temporary relief.

Through vivid imagery of smoke, stained fingers, and fading embers, the poem evokes a sense of quiet resignation, underscoring the slow erosion of will beneath a comforting but insidious habit. The rhythmic AB meter reinforces the hypnotic cycle of desire and consequence, mirroring the way these comforts lull us into complacency.

At its core, Nicotine is a confrontation—a mirror held up to our daily rationalizations, asking whether we truly seek change or merely the illusion of control. The introspective tone invites readers to reflect on their own vices, however small, and consider what they may be sacrificing in the name of fleeting ease.
Of all the people
That fate stole away
You're the one I'll
Miss the most...
I wish you have a beautiful life!
He found me,
in my abandoned castle,
chasing the dead.

Dancing with despair,
in the daylight.
as it had me in chains,
at night.

My fears,
befriended my sins.
And this medley,
got me twirling to its rhythm.

Amidst this ill-lit feast,
I saw a face.
I stopped,
To get a better glimpse of him.

I fell on my knees, weeping.

All this time,
he has been waiting for me.

Each of my teardrops,
turns into a snow-white pearl,
in his hands.

Then,
he gently,
put them in the pockets,
of his holy tunic.
And I looked at him in awe!

He smiled and said,
Pearls made of tears,
always reminds me,
of my strongest warriors,
on earth.
A poem about divine redemption of a lost soul.
 Jan 30 Angharad
winter
i can smell the beginning of time
i feast on its flavor and in my belly
there's a suicidal undercurrent
this is love-hunger gnawing at a touch
at flickers of touch
i'm feeling my age
You know, sometimes
Silence can be a poem too
It allows for sincere connection
From the heart that you desire
To engage with it.
And if failed to do so
Shall bound them
To be free.
🦋🦋🦋
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