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Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.
— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_Not_Stand_at_My_Grave_and_Weep
power is not force. it is presence that doesn’t leave.
(the one who stands and is drawn towards — not by command, but by gravity.)


i do not command —
i endure.
i do not move.
i remain —
and so, draw.

not with force,
but with gravity —
the name silence wears
when someone listens
long enough.

i am not flame.
i am the hand
that might one day
be lifted.

power is not possession.
it is presence
that does not flee
when you need
to be seen.



you do not ask —
but wish to be held.
you are not pleading,
you are forming —
a shape unfinished,
already breathing.

you do not surrender.
you open —
like a hand
where a name
wants to rest.

this is not weakness.
this is the dignity
of being known.
Let’s not sleep—
let’s overthink!
Let’s rethink
every awkward blink.

Let’s write a novel
in our head,
then cry about
what we should’ve said.

Sleep is boring.
Peace is fake.
Let’s spiral till
the morning breaks.
patient, optimistic travelers
gliding soundlessly along
moving walkways while sun falls
across gleaming surfaces
of aluminum, glass and peace
Waves caress my feet,
ever so gently,
wind murmurs words of love
to me,
the sun kisses my soul
so warmly.

Within this ocean of affection,
my thoughts tremble,
but my heart yearns
to drown deep,
lost in the ebb.
Love yourself~~~~~
(even when life’s a mess, even when you feel unworthy, even when clouds of doubts and fears surround you)

Imagine creating a masterpiece happily, only to hear someone call it ugly and unworthy.
Yeah.... and that's how God and our parents feel when we talk down on ourselves
if roots can wait,
beneath the earth,
for a rain they cannot live without.

and if the stars wait,
lingering in dusk,
just to see the moon once more.

then i,
full of burning ache,
can wait too.

I will wait for you.
I'd wait for him in every lifetime
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