Where the light begins to fade,  
broken vows like whispers laid.  

Ghostly echoes trace the air,  
grief sits heavy, sharp, unfair.  

Footsteps linger, shadows bleed,  
hearts were sown, now pulled like ****.  

In the mirrors, haunting glows,  
truth is buried—no one knows.

O Lord,
I have heard words that comfort the heart,
words that steady the soul.
And I have heard words that pierce like a sword,
that cut the flesh clean.
Bless us, O Lord, with tongues of gold.
Let our lips speak peace, not ruin.
Let our voices be fountains of mercy,
not fires that consume.
Guard our mouths, O Lord,
and let the breath that leaves us
be as incense before Your throne
sweet, pure, and everlasting.
Amen.

They call you mad,
because you dream with your eyes open.
They call you lost,
because you refuse to walk their well-paved roads.

They call you dangerous,
because your words ignite thought like dry grass.
They call you disobedient,
because your silence listens deeper than their noise.

But do not bend,
for truth has never been loved by the comfortable,
and freedom has never been sung in unison.

Walk on
the mind they fear is the one still awake
in a world that sleeps standing up.

No rose will beg for grace,  
its thirst veiled in quiet space.  
Petals fade without a plea,  
whispers lost to silent seas.  

To bloom demands the unseen hand,  
a tender drip, a lifeline's strand.  
Though no voice breaks the air,  
its wilting speaks a mute despair.

Hold fast to the ache within.  
Let no shadow dim your fire.  
The world cannot wear your shoes;  
Its gaze is blind to your truth.  

Do not twist love to their mold,  
Nor barter dreams for their light.  
Your spark is not theirs to judge;  
Burn as only you were born.

How to live when half your sky goes gray,
When the sun dips low, and stays that way?
Thirty-five years, a love so deep,
Now only silence, secrets to keep.
Like air you breathed, a constant song,
Now just an absence, terribly long.

How to wake up, face the light,
When all feels wrong, and nothing feels right?
No easy words, no magic cure,
Just an empty space, you must endure.
The language lost, the laughter gone,
A heart that's broken, carries on.

Life waits, it watches, knows your pain,
Lets time flow by, like gentle rain.
The thunder fades, the storm subsides,
And memories soften, gentle tides.
How to start, how to begin,
When everything feels, broken within?

You do not force it, you do not pretend,
That all is well, right to the end.
You breathe each hour, one by one,
Until a new day, has begun.
Old photographs, a shared embrace,
A familiar scent, in this lonely place.

Grieve without shame, let tears flow free,
Release the sorrow, honestly.
Build little things, a simple treat,
A morning coffee, oh so sweet.
A walk in nature, calm and slow,
A whispered prayer, for where to go.

A favorite song, a gentle sound,
Life still exists, all around.
You are still here, you still remain,
Though darkness lingers, through the pain.
How to love again, a whispered plea,
Is there a future, still for me?

Not to erase, what once was true,
The love you shared, the life you knew.
But widen your heart, let it expand,
To hold the memories, hand in hand.
Thirty-five years, cannot be replaced,
But fertile ground, cannot be erased.

Let old love be, the nourishing soil,
From which new kindness, can recoil.
The next love comes, it won't be the same,
A different rhythm, a different flame.
Slower, gentler, soft and mild,
A new connection, strong and wild.

How to move on, you ask with dread,
Do not try to rush, do not leave unsaid,
The things you feel, the things you hide,
Just let your spirit, gently glide.
Ripen slowly, like fruit on the vine,
Let healing happen, over time.

One day you will notice, the sharp edge gone,
The pain has softened, with the dawn.
The echo warms, instead of wounds,
Love never left, it just confounds.
It changed its name, it took new flight,
And fills your world, with softer light.

I still love you 💘

A turned back, a whispered word,
A hidden blade: no truth is heard.
Where sight grows dim, the tendrils creep.

Weeds thrive in the dark where secrets sleep.

This backstab art I do not know;
Its crooked grace, its silent blow.
My hands are clumsy, my skills are poor. I have no taste for that dark lure.

So teach me, kindly, not the strike,
But how to see before the knife;
Show me the angle, how to read
The tiny rust that hints misdeed.

I’ll learn the stance, refuse the fee,
Let honesty be my warranty.
Perhaps through light I’ll come to see
A truer way for you and me.