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Cadmus May 4
We danced in fire, we spoke in stars,
Our whispers rode on midnight cars.
Your laugh would bloom where silence grew,
And every dream began with you.

But now your words fall cold and thin,
Like echoes lost in rusted tin.
Your hand once burned to meet with mine
Now slips away, devoid of sign.

We used to kiss like time stood still,
Now even touch feels forced, uphill.
We shared a world, a sacred art
But this is a far cry from the start.

No storms, no fights, just quiet air,
And all the passion stripped to bare.
We smile on cue, we play the part
Yet love has slipped out from the heart.

So here we are, not near, not far
Two strangers orbiting one star.
And though you’re here, I fall apart
This love’s a far cry from the start.
This poem captures the quiet unraveling of a relationship, the slow drift from intimacy to emotional distance. It reflects how love can fade not through chaos, but through silence, routine, and absence of true connection
Cadmus May 22
You don’t notice it at first.
Not really.
Life keeps you busy with noise, with dreams, with the next thing.

But then one day,
you cross an invisible threshold.
There’s no signpost, no celebration
just the quiet erosion of what once mattered.

The body falters first.
Not dramatically - no, it’s more insidious than that.
You wake up sore from sleep.
You get winded climbing stairs you once ran.
You start measuring your days in energy, not hours.

Then come the dreams
the ones you clung to like anchors.
They begin to dissolve.
Some shrink into hobbies, others vanish with a sigh.
And the ones that remain?
Too fragile to chase, too old to birth.

Your beliefs shift too.
Not because they were wrong,
but because the world keeps insisting you make room for things
you once swore you’d never tolerate.

You adjust.
You settle.
You survive.

But the worst part
the part no one warns you about
is the people.

One by one,
they begin to leave.

Some give you time.
They let you prepare your goodbye.
Others vanish mid-conversation,
leaving cups half full and promises unfinished.

And what’s cruel is not just that they’re gone
it’s that nothing fills their space.
You try.
You pretend.
You build new connections like patchwork quilts.
But nothing fits quite right.

Because love, real love, isn’t replaced.
It’s carried
as ache,
as memory,
as absence you learn to walk around like a piece of furniture in the dark.

You keep going, of course.
What else can you do?
You make tea.
You water the plants.
You smile at strangers and nod at the sky like it still owes you something.

But deep down, you know:
This is what it means to age
not the wrinkles, not the gray.
It’s the slow, silent disappearing
of everything that once made you feel
alive.
Aging is not just the passage of time , it’s the quiet art of learning how to let go, again and again, without ever quite mastering it.
Cadmus May 27
✈️

A slap on the tarmac, crisp and clear,
From Madame’s hand to France’s dear.

Not war, not scandal, nor fiscal gap
But history paused for a marital slap.

The cameras rolled, the world took note,
As dignity slipped from his tailored coat.

If kings once fell to sword and plot,
Now presidents blush, and say they “forgot.”

👋🏻
Sometimes history is written in treaties, sometimes in blood, and occasionally, with an open palm in front of a presidential aircraft.
Cadmus Apr 30
Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies are thin for air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.

You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.

Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.

I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.

So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high is not a crime.
It is a gift for those who soar
Not for the ones who beg at doors.
Cadmus May 21
🚂

We board with desire.

We return with clarity.

And somewhere between the stations,

we learn

What was attainable.

And what was worth carrying.

🚊
This poem captures the quiet transformation that time brings. We begin our journey burdened with ambition, desire, and expectation—only to return tempered by experience, having shed what we once thought essential. It’s a meditation on simplicity, loss, and wisdom.
Cadmus May 11
Oh, the sound of Your mercy
a calf’s skull cracking like wet fruit
between the lion’s blessed jaws.
Such elegance in hunger.
Such holy punctuation in the scream.

We praise Your benevolence
in the slow bleed of the gazelle,
its legs still dancing
long after the gut’s been opened.
A waltz of grace. A lesson in letting go.

Behold Your love, you the all loving,
as it comes ashore in Tsunamis,
dragging children from their beds
into the arms of the tide.
Baptism by bone and salt.

Oh Creator, architect of fang and flood,
Who crowned the strong and taught them to drink blood.
No wiser hand could craft such law divine
Where nature loves the slaughter, by design.

Your favor is a wildfire,
Your kiss, a plague.
Your will, a butcher’s hymn
we dare not question
lest You love us harder.

To you Lord,
forever we bow and say,
Amen.
This poem is a work of dark satire reflecting on the brutality embedded in the natural world. Its tone of reverent sarcasm is aimed at questioning the notion of a benevolent creator within a system governed by predation, suffering, and indifference.
Cadmus May 30
Don’t believe the words I wrote
in that fleeting moment of storm,
about forgetting you.

They were born of hurt,
not truth.

My eternity,
still longs for you.

Even silence,
echoes your name.
Written in the quiet aftermath of a moment I mistook for closure. Sometimes, the heart speaks in contradiction before it finds its truth again.
Cadmus May 24
🦅

Fly,
fierce child,
into the ruthless blue;

Let winds unmake you,
they will make you true.

The sky is cruel
but it remembers one:

The heart that dares to burn
brighter than the sun.

☀️
This poem is a brief invocation of courage, a metaphorical push from the ledge, urging the bold spirit to embrace risk, transformation, and pain as rites of passage. The “ruthless blue” is not only the sky but the vast unknown, the unforgiving realm of truth and transcendence. Only by allowing oneself to be “unmade” by elemental forces can the self be reforged into something authentic and luminous.
Cadmus May 23
🍽️

If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:

They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.

Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.

The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.

So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.

They were never here for me…
just the feast.
This piece strips away illusion to expose the cruelty of conditional attention. It’s a brutal commentary on how people often glorify what they consume, only to discard it with contempt once their desire is satisfied. A warning to recognize the difference between admiration and appetite.
Cadmus May 19
🚪

If your past knocks,
don’t answer.

It’s not here to talk

it’s here to wreck
what took you years
to rebuild.

Let it knock.
Let it wait.
Let it rot.

Just don’t forget:
some doors
are better sealed
forever.
This piece is a reminder that not every return deserves a welcome. The past, especially the parts you’ve outgrown, often carries the power to unravel healing. Strength lies not in revisiting, but in refusing to regress.
Cadmus May 1
In the hush between heartbeats,
I hear the echo of your laughter
a memory not yet made.

You, a whisper in the wind,
me, chasing shadows of a smile.

If you feel this too,
leave a word behind
let’s write our story together.
Sometimes the people we miss the most are the ones we’ve never met, just imagined in perfect moments, half-dreamed, half-hoped. If this stirred something in you, say so. Maybe you’re the echo I was waiting for.
Cadmus May 19
Apart from your mother…

Only insurance companies
pray you live forever
no crashes, no coughs,
no inconvenient surprises.

They pray for your safety
with more sincerity
than your friends ever did.

No backhanded compliments,
no masked resentment.

They’ll cheer for your success
as long as it’s mild.
Celebrate your fitness
but not too wild.
This poem exposes the transactional nature of modern relationships, using insurance companies as a metaphor for the rare, conditional loyalty found in a world where even love is often veiled in competition, envy, or quiet sabotage.
Cadmus Apr 30
[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.
This poem is a metaphorical tale about a young woman challenging the weight of social traditions and limitations, choosing the perilous beauty of freedom over the safety of conformity.
Cadmus May 14
I see the endings in their birth,
The wilt curled in the bloom,
The echo in the first soft word
That hums of pending gloom.

Yet on I go, with knowing steps,
Down paths that twist and burn
Not for hope, nor fate, nor faith,
But just to feel the turn.

It’s not some tragic grandeur,
No noble, aching art
Just a quiet urge to prove myself
The fool I knew at start.
A self-aware confession dressed as poetry because sometimes wisdom doesn’t save us from walking straight into the fire we already smelled.
Cadmus Jun 2
🐺

The more I understand man
and what he’s capable of…

the more I am convinced
the wolf was framed

and Little Red
wrote the story.

🧣🧣
Interpretations are often shaped by those who survive to tell the tale. Sometimes, the villain is just the one without a voice.
Cadmus May 9
In the beginning, the universe was simple
hydrogen adrift, uniform, featureless.
No spark. No shape. No meaning.

Then came gravity. the invisible hand that pulled atoms toward each other.
Not out of need, but out of attraction.
It didn’t shout. It didn’t rush.
It simply drew things closer.

And in that closeness? Friction. Heat. Fire.
Stars were born.
Inside those stars: gold, carbon, diamond, uranium, the rare, the radiant, the necessary.
Then came life. Then came us.

Without gravity, the universe would have remained cold. Silent. Pointless.
With it, it sang.

So too with love.

We, too, begin as scattered selves.
Drifting. Guarded. Independent.
Then someone enters our orbit
not violently, but undeniably…
and we feel pulled.

And when love is real - not forceful, but fundamental - it becomes gravity.

It creates heat where there was indifference.
It forges meaning where there was monotony.
It makes the rarest things - trust, sacrifice, ecstasy, forgiveness… possible.

Without love, we remain inert.
With it, we combust into something bigger than ourselves.

Not every force is loud.
Some reshape the cosmos… quietly, persistently - one touch at a time.
In astrophysics, gravity doesn’t merely hold things together, it ignites fusion, births stars, and enables time itself to have consequence. Likewise, in human connection, love isn’t just an emotion; it is the unseen force that creates depth, memory, meaning, and the conditions for growth. Without gravity, the universe is static. Without love, so are we.
Cadmus May 23
🖤

Just pray
you don’t push me far enough
to show you
how heartless I can be.

I’ve buried mercy
for those who went too deep.

I’ve smiled
while walking away from flames
I used to feed.

There’s a silence in me
darker than rage,
a calm
that doesn’t beg,
warn,
or explain.

🖤
This poem is a quiet warning cloaked in composure. It speaks to the stillness that comes not from indifference, but from practiced restraint, the kind that’s capable of cruelty, but chooses silence. Until silence becomes the sharpest answer of all.
Cadmus May 1
He said:
Have you noticed how the sun commands the sky
bold, blazing, untouchable?
She smiled:
And how the moon listens
soft, steady, and never once needing to burn?

He said:
Fire must be a man - restless, hungry, loud.
She replied:
Then water is surely a woman
quiet, patient, but strong enough to carve canyons.

He teased:
Isn’t logic masculine?
She countered:
Only if emotion is feminine
and both are useless without the other.

He smirked:
Strength is a man’s trait.
She tilted her head:
Yet childbirth is not for the weak.

He whispered:
Desire… now that must be a woman.
She leaned in:
And control? That, my dear, is a man’s fantasy.

He said:
Betrayal wears a woman’s perfume.
She said:
And vengeance wears a man’s cologne.

He said:
War is written in a man’s script.
She replied:
But peace is cradled in a woman’s hands.

He paused, then confessed:
The world may have been built by men…
She completed him:
But it is held together by women.

They sat in silence,
neither victorious,
both understood.

Because every question seeks to conquer -
and every answer longs to heal.
This piece is a poetic exploration of the magnetic tension between masculine fire and feminine grace - where wit flirts with vulnerability, and mockery gives way to meaning. It’s not a battle of genders, but a dance of energies drawn to complete each other in heat, in hush, and in heart.
Cadmus May 26
The worst isn’t death.
Death is honest.
It arrives, it ends.
Clean.

The worst is staying.
Breathing.
Functioning.
While everything that made you you
quietly rots beneath the skin.

When you watch your passions
starve to death
and can’t even bother
to grieve them.

When the people you loved
become background noise,
and you answer with nods
because words cost too much.

When nothing is worth arguing for,
and silence feels
like mercy.

This isn’t a fall.
It’s slow erasure
each day
another fingerprint gone
from the glass.

Until one morning,
you look in the mirror
and meet
a very polite stranger.
This poem explores emotional erosion - not dramatic collapse, but the quiet, daily loss of passion, purpose, and self. It reflects the darker side of psychological burnout, where apathy masquerades as peace, and survival becomes indistinguishable from surrender.
Cadmus May 29
Once infected,

you’re bound to lose,
friends,
family,
lovers,
Business.

Faith brands you a heretic.

Power erases you.

Not because truth is evil,
but because it’s untamed
and the world prefers masks
that never slip.

They said truth sets you free , they forgot to mention it frees you from everyone.

☔️
Cadmus May 6
Wink
⬇️
Tease
⬇️
Chase
⬇️
Giggle
⬇️
Tangle
⬇️
Bounce
⬇️
Repeat
🔄
A cycle of flirtation, mischief, and irresistible tension  - this isn’t just a mood, it’s a ritual. Seduction, on loop.
Cadmus May 18
Love…

I owe you an apology
not for what I did,
but for what your dreams said I did.

Somewhere in your sleep,
I lost my mind, my vows,
and apparently my clothes.

You woke with distance in your eyes,
and I knew:
I’d betrayed you in a world
I never touched.

So let me say this
I’m sorry for the man
your dream invented.

And I promise,
as long as you sleep without nightmares,
I’ll stay faithful…

even in your imagination.
Sometimes we carry our fears into dreams, and wake with the ache of something that never happened. Love means apologizing anyway , not for guilt, but for care. Because even imagined hurt deserves a real embrace.
Cadmus May 19
If a dog could speak,
he might look up at you and say:

“Please
don’t call your human traitor… a dog.
Don’t give our name
to those who lie,
who bite the hand
then kiss the air.

We don’t forget
a kindness once given
not a crust of bread,
not a warm place by the fire,
not a voice that called us friend.

We wait at the door
long after the footsteps fade.
We guard graves.
We sleep beside sorrow
without asking why.

When one of ours is hurt,
we circle close.
We bleed with them.
We never leave
unless we’re forced.

We don’t scheme.
We don’t pretend.
We don’t smile
with a knife behind our back.

So next time a human
sells love for pride,
abandons a friend in fear,
or forgets the one
who once saved them

Just call him Human.

For we know no other species
that buries loyalty
beneath convenience,
that trades truth
for applause,
that remembers insults
but forgets grace.

We,
with paws and silence,
would die for those
who once fed us.

You,
with words and reason,
sometimes ****
what you claim to love.

So do not stain our name
with betrayal.
Do not dress your disloyalty
in fur and fangs.

We are not like you.

And perhaps,
that’s why you love us.
Because somewhere,
in your better dreams,
you wish
you could be
a little more dog.”
This poem gives voice to the silent loyalty of dogs, contrasting it with the conditional, often self-serving nature of human relationships. It challenges the use of “dog” as an insult, suggesting that even in their silence, animals often carry more integrity than those who speak.
Cadmus Apr 30
Something in me always waited
without knowing what for.
A quiet space, a missing piece,
like a song I half-remembered
but never heard before.

Then you came,
like sunlight sneaking into a closed room,
like warmth I didn’t know I’d missed
until I felt it on my skin.

You touched thoughts I’d never spoken.
You woke up parts of me I didn’t even know were asleep.
You didn’t arrive… you were always there,
like a voice behind my voice,
a feeling in my breath.

So stay close.
Because when you’re not near,
I feel myself searching
not for someone else,
but for the part of me
that only exists with you.
Lucky is the one who meets their matching other half, the one who feels like home in a world of strangers. Not everyone gets that kind of alignment, where two souls fit without force. When it happens, it’s nothing short of sacred.
Cadmus 9h
🕊️

I miss who I was
softer,
simpler,
a little lost…

But somehow more at peace.

Not wiser,
just lighter.

And peace, it turns out,
is the rarest kind of wisdom.

🕊️
Growth often costs us the gentleness we once had. But in quiet moments, we grieve that softness - not for its weakness, but for its peace.
Cadmus May 21
🛐

If my trust in God’s love were complete,

My prayers wouldn’t beg for change,

they’d whisper thanks for the earthquake .

☔️
Faith isn’t always a peaceful acceptance. Sometimes, it’s a whispered rebellion dressed as prayer. because belief is easiest when life is kind, and hardest when we’re asked to live without answers.
Cadmus May 4
They say love makes the world go ‘round…

But try proposing without a diamond that whispers loud…
Money…

Family dinners full of smiles and fights repressed…
Money…

Cousins showing up at Christmas looking freshly blessed…
Money…

The secret to youth? It’s not kale or prayer…
Money…

Just a surgeon, a syringe, and some derriere repair…
Money…

You want the Nobel? Sure, write your thesis with flair…
Money…

But someone still paid for that tenured chair…
Money…

The kids need books, a laptop, and a chance to dream…
Money…

Also Wi-Fi, tutoring, and a school with steam…
Money…

Evolution gave us fire, but civilization gave us class…
Money…

And the biggest difference between king and ***…
Money…

You want to change the world? Start a cause? Break a curse?
Money…

Or you’ll be that guy with vision… and an empty purse…
Money…

Science needs data, equipment, and trust…
Money…

Also snacks for the lab, and a fridge that won’t rust…
Money…

Want to flirt, be adored, radiate that spark?
Money…

Or stay home, scroll apps, and die in the dark…
Money…

Even funerals aren’t free, your last “to-do”…
Money…

Because dying is easy, but burial? Whew…
Money…

So next time someone tells you it isn’t everything…
Money……

So here’s your truth, wrapped neat and funny:
Everything you touch, trust, taste, or tolerate runs on…
Money…
If this poem made you uncomfortable, don’t worry, it’s probably just your bank account recognizing itself in the mirror. Side effects may include existential budgeting and spontaneous side hustles.
Cadmus May 20
🩸

We all have wounds.
Not all of them
show blood
trickling on the skin
those are the lesser ones.

The body heals.
Scabs form.
Scars fade.

But some wounds
bleed a different kind of red
silent,
invisible,
constant.

They live beneath smiles,
hide behind handshakes,
and echo
in quiet rooms.

No bandage fits them.
No doctor sees them.
And yet,
they shape us more
than any knife ever could.
This poem explores the unseen nature of emotional and psychological pain. While physical wounds are acknowledged and treated, the deeper, invisible ones often go unnoticed, yet they linger far longer and shape who we become.
Cadmus May 18
Let it go under.

Neither the rowers are honest,
nor the passengers loyal.

Let it sink…

For in this floating masquerade,
drowning is the only honest act.
Sometimes, destruction is clarity. When all roles are false and all hands unclean, letting go is not surrender, it’s truth.
Cadmus May 30
I laughed - not for likes,
but because the sky was kind
and the breeze felt honest.

I wore comfort,
not costume,
and danced without a soundtrack.

No mirrors.
No filters.
Just me,
at ease in my skin,
and joy
quiet as a secret,
loud as my heart.
We spend so much of life performing for eyes that aren’t really watching, chasing applause that never feels quite enough. But real joy lives in the unscripted, in the quiet, barefoot moments where we belong wholly to ourselves. This poem is a reminder: not everything needs an audience to be beautiful.
Cadmus May 11
~

Don’t grow up.

~

ITS A TRAP

~
Adulthood promises freedom, but often steals wonder.
Cadmus May 16
It doesn’t scream.
It whispers
soft as ash
settling
where fire used to be.

It lives
in the pause
before you speak your truth,
in the mirror
you half avoid
each morning.

It wears your voice
in rooms where you shrink,
calls itself “just tired,”
“just busy,”
“just fine.”

It is the bruise
you forget to touch,
the silence
you defend
with a smile too wide.

No blood.
No scar.
Just the slow unraveling
of who you were
before you believed
you were not enough.
Shame is a quiet architect of silence, often unspoken, yet deeply rooted. These verses aim to give voice to what hides in the dark and light to the path of healing.
Cadmus May 30
🎭

I
miss
the
time
when
my
smiles
were
real.

👺
This piece reflects the quiet resilience that grows in the shadow of sadness. It’s a reminder that even the faintest hope has the power to restore the sincerity of a smile.
Cadmus May 25
There’s something in her I won’t name
A hush of wind, a candle flame.
Not made for grasping, not to own,
She is the wild, the seed, the stone.

She doesn’t try to draw the eye,
Yet still, the world forgets the sky.
She moves as though the earth was told
To cradle life in curves of gold.

Her voice? It’s warmth in twilight air,
A lullaby, a whispered prayer.
Her smile? The sun through window panes,
That touches soul before it rains.

She doesn’t rule - and yet, she reigns.
She doesn’t fight - but breaks my chains.
She’s softness made by nature’s hand
To melt the steel in every man.

She speaks in silence, sees in shade,
And somehow knows what’s not yet said.
She tends, she weaves, she kneels to none,
Yet all I am revolves her sun.

I’ve seen her cry - and not from fear,
But from a strength too deep, too near.
A well of life, a boundless sea
That dares to bloom and still be free.

She is the reason poems start,
The gentle architect of heart.
The one who holds without a grip,
Who builds a world with fingertip.

And if the stars should all erase,
I’d find the universe in her face.
For she’s not mine - she’s something more:
The sacred I was made to adore
This poem is a hymn of reverence - an ode from a man who sees in his beloved not just beauty or affection, but the sacred architecture of life itself. She is not defined by roles or possessions, but by her elemental force: soft yet unyielding, nurturing yet untamed. In her, he perceives the mystery of creation, the poetry of emotion, and the quiet power nature entrusts to the feminine form. It is not submission she inspires, but devotion -  the kind born from awe, not ownership
Cadmus May 7
(A Symphony in the Air)

She passed
and the air forgot its name.
A trail of fire, wrapped in flame.
Not footsteps, no… she left a bloom,
a whispered spell, a haunting plume.

Jasmine bruised with midnight spice,
vanilla smoke and crushed device,
amber kissed by ancient lore,
and musk like sin behind a door.

It wasn’t scent, it was a hymn,
a chorus pouring from her skin.
Each note a memory, raw, refined,
a fingerprint the soul designed.

It danced on silk, it clung to bone,
it made the silence overgrown.
You smelled her once, now every room
aches for that ghost…
that perfume.

It wasn’t soft… it struck like wine,
first sweet, then heat, then serpentine.
It woke the dark, it stirred the bed,
it crowned the lips where words had fled.

Men forgot their vows that night.
Women wept with pure delight.
Time itself stood still to breathe
a scent like that will never leave.

It lives in coats, in creaking floors,
on letters slipped through velvet doors.
You lose her, yes - she slips too soon.
But you will always keep her perfume.
Perfume is more than fragrance , it’s a memory with a pulse, a phantom that lingers longer than presence itself. This poem captures how scent seduces, imprints, and outlives even the moments it was made for.
Cadmus May 21
🥃

I must’ve been drunk,
under a spell,
or half-asleep
with my soul on mute

because some of the people
I let into my life
were the kind
I wouldn’t let near
if I’d been even
half
conscious.

Not in daylight.
Not with clarity.
Not with my guard up
and my self-respect awake.

like a fool
hosting thieves
in the middle of a dream.

🥃
This piece captures the bewilderment and regret of past emotional decisions, highlighting how vulnerability, distraction, or denial can invite people into our lives who never deserved the invitation. It’s a bitter laugh at our own temporary blindness.
Cadmus May 17
It wasn’t you…

You were exactly
as you are.

It was me,
who turned your smile into a sunrise,
and blamed you,
when it rained.

☔️
We don’t fall because others lift us too high, we fall because we climbed with our own illusions. My mistake wasn’t in trusting you. It was in scripting an ending you never signed up for.
Cadmus May 19
You think this is a tantrum?

Child

This is the wrath of gods
who waited centuries
before they raised their hand.

I am not your wounded girl.
I am Nemesis unchained,
Kali in stillness before the storm.
My silence was mercy.
You mistook it for peace.

I do not wail. I summon.
I do not flinch. I fracture.
Your name is already ash
on the altar of my patience.

I offered grace.
Now I offer consequence.

Run if you like.
Pray if you must.
But even Olympus learned
no one walks away
from a goddess enraged.
Anger, when divine, doesn’t shout. It judges. And every empire built on dismissal learns the cost of silence misread.
Cadmus May 19
Its very weird…

I looked into their faces
the ones who truly broke me.
No enemies among them.

Just Brutus,
in many forms,
smiling.
Familiar hands,
and mouths,
that once said

I never would.


as they held the knife
like a gift.
This piece reflects on the dissonance between pain and intent - how the deepest betrayals often come not from enemies, but from those closest to us. The reference to Brutus evokes the timeless sting of betrayal by someone trusted, echoing Caesar’s famous last breath: “Et tu, Brute?”
Cadmus 7d
🚪

Tell those latecomers,
they are too late.

No longer welcome.

The longing that once burned for them,
now sleeps in ashes they cannot revive.

Even beauty,
once able to undo me,
now passes by,
unseen,
untouched.

For what fails to arrive when it’s needed,
doesn’t arrive at all.

Excessive waiting takes its toll,
and the loss is permanent.

⌛️
Some doors don’t slam… they simply stop opening.
Cadmus May 19
Sometimes,

you find yourself walking alone.

not because you’re lost,

but because you know

the road

so **** well.
This poem reframes solitude not as confusion, but as clarity born from experience. It honors the strength of those who choose to walk alone - not from loneliness, but from hard-earned wisdom.
Cadmus May 15
Of all the games
we learned to play
with jokes, with rules,
with risk and trust
we never chose
to lie.

But then you did.
And nothing
held.

No knot was tight,
no safe word sure,
no breath between us
true.

A whispered “yes”
became a guess,
and touch
a kind of theft.

Now every scene
rewinds itself,
the lines we drew
blurred…

For once a lie
slips past the lips,
nothing
truly grips.
Some wounds don’t bruise. They whisper. A single lie can unravel what a thousand touches built.
Cadmus 7d
🏛️

Those who survived the deadly blows of life,
and the collapse of all they trusted.

Don’t cry anymore.

They’ve traded tears,
for silence.

No joy stirs them.

No sorrow shakes them.

They know too much.

They’ve seen the truth:
nothing stays.
Not warmth,
not promises,
not even pain.

They walk among us,
quiet
like ruins.

Surrounded by crowds,
they remain alone,

Survivors

wearing the stillness
of what nearly killed them.

🏛️
Some scars don’t scream, they whisper through silence that never ends.
Cadmus May 20
They laughed when he showed up
with a résumé in hand.
Tail tucked, horns sanded down,
wore a tie, shook hands.

“I used to tempt kings,
whispered wars into ears.
Now I scroll headlines
and choke back tears.”

He tried marketing
but humans were better
at selling lies with smiling teeth
and discount codes for sin.

He applied for politics
but found the position filled
by those who make devils
blush in admiration.

Tried tech
but algorithms already knew
how to addict, divide,
and hollow out souls
with precision.

Even in war,
they no longer need whispers.
They bomb hospitals
and call it strategy.
He offered corruption.
They offered quarterly targets.

“They don’t need me anymore,”
he sighed to the clerk.
“They’ve mastered the craft.
I was just a spark
They made it an industry.”

Now he wanders,
CV in flames,
hoping someone will want
a washed-up fallen angel
who simply can’t compete
with modern man.
This poem uses satire to explore the depths of human moral decay, flipping the traditional narrative of evil. Once feared, Satan is now obsolete, as humanity’s capacity for cruelty, manipulation, and greed has far surpassed mythic malevolence.
Cadmus May 6
We stopped when blame grew silent,

and words turned into shards

each step toward each other

cut deeper than the last.
Some loves don’t end in thunder… just the soft, unbearable sound of two hearts stepping away to avoid the splinters.
Cadmus May 21
I never forgave my twin brother
for abandoning me
for six minutes in our mother’s womb,
leaving me there alone,
terrified in the dark,
floating like an astronaut in that silent space,
while kisses rained down on him from the other side.

Those were the longest six minutes of my life
the minutes that made him the firstborn,
the favored one.

Ever since, I raced to be first:
out of the room,
out of the house,
to school,
to the cinema
even if it meant missing the end of the movie.

Then one day, I got distracted,
and he stepped out to the street before me.
Smiling that gentle smile,
he was struck by a car.

I remember my mother
how she rushed from the house
at the sound of the impact,
how she passed by me,
arms outstretched toward his lifeless body,
but she screamed my name.

To this day,
I’ve never corrected her mistake.

It was I who died,
and he who lived.
Sometimes grief chooses the wrong name. And sometimes, we let it.
Cadmus May 12
Don’t be alarmed
if evil blooms
where you sowed
your gentlest good.

Not all earth
welcomes roots
some soils rot
what should have stood.

So plant with love,
but learn the ground,
for even light
can be misunderstood.
A reflection on misplaced effort, toxic environments, and the wisdom of discernment.
Cadmus May 19
Take off your clothes.
Slow.
Let them slip like secrets.
Let the silk confess.

Step forward.
Bare skin. Bare soul.
No perfume to distract me,
no colors to lie.

Drop the stories,
the stitched-up smiles,
the lace of excuses.

I want you raw,
**** under the light,
where nothing hides
and everything dares to be real.

You’re never more beautiful
than when you’re stripped
of all that isn’t you.

Take off your clothes.
Let me meet
THE NAKED TRUTH.
This poem uses sensual imagery to expose a deeper metaphor, how truth, like the human body, is most powerful when unadorned. It speaks to the beauty of vulnerability and the courage it takes to stand uncloaked in front of another.
Cadmus May 15
For a moment,
I was everything.

As we danced,
He spoke in sonnets,
promised castles and constellations.
I believed.

But when the music died,
so did he.
The stars blinked out,
the castle never was.

And I returned
to my table,
to my silence,
to a world that never danced.

With nothing in my hands
but the weight
of hollow words
spoken in fluent dreams.
Some men don’t love you. They just know how to speak fluently in dreams.
Cadmus May 22
👺

In this grand  masquerade,
We call
The real world,

No mask,
costs more than

your own true face.

🎭
To be seen as you truly are is the bravest costume and the most unforgiving stage.
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