Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
That kind of longing you learn once you miss.
Goes by a name only a heart knows how to pronounce,
and doesn’t hesitate to call when you care to listen,
so it absorbs as it unfolds yours every ounce.

Of all the things, it’s absence that can’t be overcome,
a void of crushing torment you have to sustain
alongside hope that one day it will leave.
But that’s like hoping for a night of clear skies
that guides your way home in the middle of the storm.
You might as well sink. As there’s no burden
heavier than the love you can’t give.
A feeling that, once settled in, leaves you asking questions about the meaning of all of this, never hearing back, or worse - learning haphazard explanations. No matter the intention, indifferent to your plans, it’s always there. You know it’s there. Waiting for a dram of attention, ready to overflow you, to petrify your lungs, leaving you gasping for air fighting its waves adrift. A chasm of terrifying depth, frightening the eyes to avert, wanting to never look back. Yet, left unattended for too long hollows the interior with apathy, offering a coup de grace of sweet numbness one step ahead, out of reach, unless you’re willing to take it one step further. The small things come to the rescue, small wins: some chores, routines, comforting others. The clipping works, occasionally watering, but better not reach for the roots, definitely not unprepared.
Oct 8 · 332
Caught by the Wind
Lemon Black Oct 8
Wave after wave, a playful gale flurries,
To the outstretched palm of Mother Nature,
Each tamed to a steady caress,
As she tends, lovingly nurtures,
Her arboretums underwater,
Where blooms and seaweed sway, unbothered.

An albatross aloft, above,
Not biting on wind’s game of riddles,
Indifferent to which way comes gust,
Unfazed, steadfast, like sky-held buoy.

Then blows my way, at last,
Someone to toy - I’m not as rigid,
And flutters my lips to swear out dust.
I fall for it so easily. Oh boy.
Interpretation and perspective can paint the same scenery in vastly different colors. In seeking the underlying intent, we may catch a hint of it—even if none exists. The balance between intuitive insight and evoking suspicions of our own making is delicate. Understanding this is perhaps all we can ask of ourselves: observe, learn, and be mindful not to tip the scale too far.
Oct 6 · 533
In a Fog of Silence
Lemon Black Oct 6
How many lose their way
in woods that stand in grace,
in everlasting silence,
like in a fog shrouded,

that can’t be pierced with eyes
and thickens as you stare,
so wanderers, unaware
of how to cross these parts,
their constant search for signs,
they fear they cannot bear.

Once felt led astray,
they pick up the pace
and turn words to prayer
with inner strength united.

A voice that casts its spells,
to brace, fight, and repel
apparitions and wraiths
that it had just invited,

to make a rightful claim
on what it cannot gain,
as it cannot be lost
by conquered trees and ghosts.

Then back to where it started,
to woods that stand in grace,
in everlasting silence,
like in a fog shrouded.
It's difficult to avoid turning the search for inner peace into an expedition—with packed provisions, marked route, identified challenges, and a backup plan. Having set out on such a journey, we quickly learn that it is impossible to traverse the unknown following established pathways. This might come with frustration, with fear of being lost, only for us to identify and overcome, again. But these victories do not come with the wished rewards, leaving us lost in the woods, again. Until we realize that there is no fog, nor are there trees either, and with this newfound clarity, we can finally follow the way as it unravels.
Lemon Black Oct 4
When tiresome rowing takes its toll,
Brings dare to care for what's beneath.
Long lost memories emerge from darkness,
Like the drowned, following surface call.
A cry for help, left with no answer,
Now meets our dread, begging release.
Reunion with those we once held dear,
Only to recognize their faces,
Their silhouette, their traits. Identify them,
To call old sorrows by their name.
We know them truly, to their core,
And wish were spared from this truth.
We close their eyes, bring them ashore.
A rescue arriving long overdue.

But the final push has yet to be made—
To find room for love in a grieving heart.
Where we can lay them to their grave,
Bid farewell, before we part.
With each epitaph, every tombstone,
Each pain brought where it desperately yearned,
To end the suffering, rejoice salvation,
Our own anchorage lessens weight.
Encouraged, we’re back to the boat,
To keep on making the heroic choice.
One day, unburdened, we too will float,
Feel pure, cared, loved, and rejoice.
Our lives act as harbors for all that happens. Without a witness, what would it matter if anything happened at all? Yet, comes a time when these stored experiences become too heavy to carry. Some of it we do not want and push away. But this only drains us, unloading no weight. As we grow tired of merely coping, we start to seek true relief. This process of opening up opens a way for the rejected, the pushed-away, to rise to the surface, longing for our attention and care. To be relived - to fade away. The task might feel daunting, the challenge insurmountable. But it is forgiveness that initiates the healing; it is ourselves that we are ultimately caring for.
Oct 2 · 649
Consumed
Lemon Black Oct 2
For long you've been haunted,
but finally, the chest breaks open.
At last, continue onward.
The final lock's been shattered.
But make no mistake,
resistance wasn't pointless.
As now within your grasp
its contents are for grabs.
It's all you ever wanted.
It's all for you to take.
It's all that ever mattered.
It's how you trigger traps.
A mind driven by insurmountable desire accelerates passionately, ramming through every obstacle, unblocking the way with sheer force of intellect. Opposition only sharpens its focus, equipping it to overcome even more. Nothing can withstand its will, as it channels increasing energy into the cause. In doing so, it merges almost entirely with whatever it tries to acquire, stripping away everything else in the process—caution and rationale included.
Oct 1 · 256
Mountain Village
Lemon Black Oct 1
Enchanted with prayer, mountain halls
Bejeweled by its people.
As light unveils their rocky spires,
Breathes in the dawn,
Combining force
Of two opposing powers—
Resilient mind and stone.
A binding of things equal.
They twist, they torque,
Erupt with fire fueled by brawn.
Solidified in shared desire
To bring a life to form.
A view of the mountain range, that together with the human settlements, resembles a bracelet studded with stones. Though they live in harmony, it's no idyllic tale. The balance is born of hardship, formed by the raw elements. This very struggle draws out the best in the inhabitants—their resilience and determination to adapt and transform. It's not a conquest, but a deep appreciation of every moment. Each day, with each new dawn, they return to their labors. But it is life itself at work here, weaving every speck of the scenery into its endless pursuit of creation.
Oct 1 · 335
A Glimpse
Lemon Black Oct 1
The grace of the divine speaks itself into existence
As we wash our clothes, mourn the past, and dine,
As we close our eyes and listen.

The truth finds its thereabouts
And reminds itself again
That nothing is meant to last—
The restless mind disrupts.
Peace and harmony constantly surround us. Occasionally, we catch a glimpse of this subtle truth—that we are part of it. Yet, as we approach this realization, the truth itself seems to reveal the wavy, impermanent fabric of existence. That’s when the mind interferes, as the moment was always meant to pass. We're left with a feeling of disruption and a longing to return, but this very desire pulls us further from the truth.

— The End —