Nemusa

Mar 3

Vianne Lior

Waves retreat too far,
leaving ribs of old whales bare,
oceans gasp for breath.

#haiku

Nemusa Mar 3

I used to hold out hope,
as if love alone could bridge the silence.
But each year, the distance stretches,
worn thin by words unsaid,
by the quiet erosion of something once whole.

Mother, your quiet abuse
laps over me like an unforgiving tide—
this love without apology,
this ache mistaken for care.

I wish you a happy birthday—
not in laughter, not in light,
but in the hollow space where longing lingers.
The words slip through my fingers,
weightless, unanswered.

You are here,
but not with me.
And I am learning
that love does not have to be a wound,
that care should not feel like punishment.

Still, I remember.
Still, I miss you.
But I do not wait.

CPR could not revive us.

Today is my mother's birthday, unfortunately I remember and it still hurts that I won't be wishing her a happy birthday, but that's life...

Nemusa Mar 3

The River Knows

The river hums a song
too old for sorrow,
carving its path through stone and silence.
A mother stands at its edge,
toes sinking into
the earth’s quiet breath,
her fingers remembering
the weight of a hand
that once fit so easily in her own.

The wind shifts, restless with ghosts.
A name catches on the air—
half-formed, unfinished,
like a whisper left behind in the throat.

Somewhere, a prayer unravels.
Somewhere, the mountains swallow a cry.
The world moves forward, indifferent,
while she waits in
the space between moments,
between memory and forgetting.

What is love, if not a promise to hold?
What is grief, if not love unreturned?
She watches the river,
listens to its knowing—
how it takes, how it carries,
how it sings,
never asking if she is ready to let go.

Good morning hellopoetry poets, wishing you a productive week ahead ❣️ got 3 days free from work need the rest, take care
Oh, this is about letting go of my daughter she's grown up now...

Nemusa Mar 1

Bleached Pristine White

The gun falls,
a quiet thud swallowed by the earth.
For a moment, everything stops—
spirit caught midair,
astonishment blooming, then fading.

The wreath of laurel means nothing now.
The universe holds its breath.
Limbo stretches wide,
a wheat field swaying like a forgotten memory.

Lost, but the road home is familiar.
It slips through my hands,
like little fish gasping in the shallows.
Their fluttering bodies remind me
of something I can’t name.

Heart breaking, but softly.
Like stepping on eggshells,
like knowing and not knowing.
Resignation settles in my stomach,
a slow swallow of disappointment.

Blowing words into the silence,
watching them dissolve.
Everything is bleached, pristine white—
a space too clean,
too empty,
too much like an ending.

Happy 1st of March, many blessings your way ❣️ medication has put me in a trance like state, hope I heal soon...

Nemusa Feb 26

spring invitation

lilac clusters sway,

teasing black-furred bumblebee,

soft hum in the breeze.

#haiku

Nemusa Feb 26

Stockholm syndrome (momma)

It’s not here.
Time grips my throat,
holds me hostage in this hollow pause.

I confide and confess to time,
a sinner every second,
more complex with each breath.

The air is thick,
pressing against my ribs,
too full of silence,
too heavy to swallow.

Hands shake—
not from cold, not from fear,
but from the empty space inside me.

Shaking in shock, triggers firing,
nowhere to go.

Golden iris blurs in the mirror,
pupils wide, searching,
movements slow,
body waiting,
begging.

I burn the evidence,
burn my fingertips,
watch the smoke twist like ghosts.
If they knew, they’d take me away from her.

But I can’t leave.
I don’t want to.
She doesn’t mean to hurt me.
It’s my fault—
I made her angry,
I should have known better.

She loves me, doesn’t she?
She keeps me close,
knows me better than anyone.
She wouldn’t lie to me—
I must be the problem.

The past drags itself forward,
pulling me under,
secrets I swore I’d buried
claw their way back.

I see them in the walls,
feel them in my skin,
hear them whisper:
you need her.

It’s like Stockholm syndrome,
this love wrapped in chains,
this hunger that owns me,
this ache that does not end.

And still, I reach for her hands.

Bad relationship with my mother but still yearn for her love. Though I cut contact like 5 years ago too much abuse and no regrets from her, not a single apology.

Nemusa Feb 26

Powder blue skies; a blade flicks back

She rises from ruin, wings burdened by crimson memory.

Sacrifice lingers, a hymn unraveling in reverse.

Jade eyes carve a path through yesterday’s sorrow.

Petals scatter, caught between celebration and unrest.

Love drifts, an offering slipping through open hands.

A promise paid in the language of fleeting bodies.

He died in sleep, untouched by the weight of farewell.

She finds euphoria in whispers of ******* nights.

Shadows dance at the edges of her knowing grin.

She pays her rent in ******* beneath powder blue skies.

A blade flicks back, a decision sharpened with time.

A mirror reflects a wound not yet surrendered to history.

Geese unravel their lines, like we came undone.

The elder woman sings of past lovers and loss.

They listen, silence curling in spaces between them.

Good morning hellopoetry community, heading to the doctor's today fingers crossed 🤞 have a good midweek ❣️