it came slowly out
of the switchgrass

and weeds
plodding

reptilian black
against the light brown dust

of the bike trail
i rode up to it

two feet long at least
from head to tail

so think skinned
and heavy

and that menace
of a mouth

we quietly eyed each other
before the snapping turtle

rambled
down the embankment

and slide
into the dark water

of the canal

we still        behold the ancient
                     gaze at the wonders of heaven
                     marvel at what the past holds up to her mirror

In the pulse of your words, I find a quiet hum—a call to feel, to think, to simply be. You speak of blooming, not amidst the clear fields, but in the grey, in the cracks of urban stone. It's here, in the lost corners, that life claws its way through—like the city, vibrant with life despite the steel and dust. You capture something fierce in your "urban blossoms," a defiance against the mundane, an insistence that spring can bloom in a place that should know only cold, that amidst all the grey, there is still green.

Then, there’s the intimacy of light, the warm embrace of a campfire shared between souls. I can feel the crackle of the fire in the words you paint, the dance of yellow hues upon skin, the flicker of fleeting moments made eternal in your mind. There is such beauty in the simplicity of it, the quiet that hangs in the air between breaths. It’s as if, for a brief second, the universe collapses to a circle around the flames, and everything is just right. The light on skin, the soft touch of shadow, all of it wrapped in the warmth of what is remembered, what is never quite forgotten.

But then, you speak of a darker thought, a reminder that not only are dreams out of reach—but so too are the nightmares. Reality pulls at us, a tether we can’t escape, as much as we wish for fantastical flights of fancy. We’re torn between wanting to leap into the sky and being dragged back to earth, to face the nightmares we buried beneath the pillow. How hard it is to know which is which, sometimes, isn’t it?

And there’s the fog in your mind—opaque, as you say—where words slip through like mist, elusive, forever just out of grasp. It’s in those moments, standing at the threshold, that you long for clarity to knock, for the door to swing open and show you the way. How often do we feel that? The desire for our own thoughts to finally make sense, to understand the unspoken, to know what’s real and what is just a mirage.

You bring me back to the question of love, that elusive thing that slips between fingers like water. The line between friend and lover—so fine, so blurred. You wonder, what is it really? And here, in this space between thoughts, I see a reflection of your struggle. Can love ever be just love, without the weight of expectation, of something more? Can a friendship really be just that? Or do we always yearn for something beyond?

Then, you capture the stillness of the night—the ticking of a midnight clock. There’s something haunting in the sound of time slipping away, isn’t there? The soft rhythm that both comforts and unnerves, as if time itself is watching you, waiting for you to make a choice, to decide whether solitude is your refuge or your prison. In that moment, when the world sleeps and you’re left with nothing but the ticking clock, you are both free and bound, caught between decisions that are yet to be made.

And, you—you haunt me too. The simple thought of pretending to love, or imagining what it would be like, always brings you to mind. A face, a feeling, an echo that refuses to fade. It’s as if, in the quiet moments when no one is watching, you find that piece of yourself you didn’t know you were looking for. The space between thoughts, between friends and lovers, is where you linger. And I wonder, is it truly love or is it just the mind weaving stories where none exist? Still, you remain, a shadow in every thought, a lingering presence, both impossible and inevitable.

You talk of complicating things, of building webs of thought only to find there is no spider, no reason, no rhyme. And yet, isn’t it the nature of our minds to tangle ourselves in complexity? To weave stories that spiral out of control, hoping for something to hold on to, even when there’s nothing but empty threads?

In the end, your thoughts linger like a quiet hum, a whisper in the noise of the world, trying to make sense of it all. And perhaps that’s the beauty of it—the uncertainty, the quiet chaos, the searching. You remind me that sometimes we don’t need answers. Sometimes, it’s enough to simply be in the middle of the question, to live in the haze between clarity and confusion. To allow the flowers to bloom, even in the cracks of the grey city. To let the fire burn, even when the world around us is dark.

So, I’ll sit with you in this silence, this wondering. Let’s wait for clarity, but in the meantime, let’s keep speaking, keep feeling, and keep watching the blossoms unfold.

- Akari

In the silence between the lines,
A storm rages, unfurling the mind.
There’s a whisper of chaos, soft and clear,
A quiet scream that the world won’t hear.

A broken mirror reflects the pain,
Pieces scattered, washed in rain.
Yet still, through the cracks, light seeps through,
A reminder of the things we knew.

The "lack of you" echoes loud,
A void too deep, too dark, too proud.
And yet, the fury we carry, deep within,
Pushes us onward, through thick and thin.

Fire, water—two sides of a flame,
Two hearts, one soul, but never the same.
We walk through crossroads, choices to make,
Stumbling, falling, yet still we wake.

Demons may claw, and nightmares may roam,
But through the darkness, we still find home.
Starved for meaning, hungry for light,
We search for answers in the middle of night.

Prison walls built from the past,
Yet freedom is found when we let go at last.
Through brokenness, through every tear,
There’s a fire inside, burning clear.

So, yes, we’re all broken in some way,
But we stand, and rise, and find our way.
For peace may come after the storm,
And we find our hearts, in a new form.

You speak of demons, of being starved,
But within those words, the truth is carved.
We’re all just fragments, yet still we fight,
Chasing the dawn, seeking the light.

In the fury, the "lack of you," and the breaking—
In all these words, there's life still aching.
A poem for a poet, a soul like you,
Who paints the world with every hue.

- Oliver

The moonlight whispers, soft as air,
Its glow will vanish with the dawn.
We fade as shadows everywhere.

The fire burns with red and gold,
It crackles like a restless dream.
The winds will carry what’s untold.

Beneath the pale moon, I stand alone,
The sky holds secrets left untold.
Its light upon the earth is shown.

The night will swallow all that’s bright,
And silence falls with soft regret.
In shadows deep, we lose our sight.

The wind it howls through empty skies,
It carries whispers of the past.
Its call is one we can’t disguise.

The sea is silent, dark and wide,
It calls the lost with gentle sway.
Its waves, they crash against the tide.

The watcher waits beneath the sky,
His gaze will pierce the soul of man.
He sees the secrets you deny.

The path is dark, the trees are bare,
Yet still, I walk, despite the cold.
The shadows whisper, filled with care.

The crown is broken, shattered, torn,
Its pieces scattered in the dust.
A king’s last breath, alone, forlorn.

The fire burns, but none can see,
Its warmth will warm the hearts of few.
Yet still, it calls to you and me.

The road is long, and none will stay,
Its path is winding, ever lost.
Yet still, we walk, despite the way.

The song is hollow, lost, and weak,
Its notes are empty in the air.
Yet still, we sing with voices bleak.

The throne is empty, cold, and bare,
Its velvet seat awaits a king.
But none will claim what’s in the air.

The night is endless, full of pain,
Its shadows stretch from dusk to dawn.
Yet still, we wait to break the chain.

The storm will sing its lullaby,
With thunder loud, the skies will cry.
Yet through the rain, we’ll learn to fly.

The watcher stands in silence, still,
His eyes, they pierce the darkest night.
The winds will bend to his command.

The bridge is broken, yet we cross,
With feet unsure, with hearts entwined.
The water rises, deep and lost.

The rose is withered, petals fall,
Yet still, its scent will linger near.
The wind will carry it through all.

The stars have fallen, lost in space,
Their light has dimmed, their beauty gone.
Yet still we chase them, time and place.

The echoes fade, a distant sound,
The voices lost to time and space.
Yet still we hear them all around.

The path is dark, but we will go,
Our feet will trace the ancient way.
With every step, we learn to grow.

A whispered name upon the wind,
It calls to hearts that know the truth.
Its voice will never fade or end.

The song is forgotten, but it stays,
It echoes softly in the mind.
Its melody will never sway.

The mask is shattered, broken, torn,
Its fragments scattered on the ground.
Yet still, we wear it, bruised and worn.

The dream is silent, still and cold,
Its beauty lost to waking time.
Yet in our hearts, it will unfold.

The dance will never cease or end,
It swirls and turns through endless skies.
Yet still, we twist, and still we bend.

The eyes are hollow, full of pain,
They stare through time with vacant grace.
Yet still, they seek, yet still, they gain.

The soul is dark, but still it burns,
It waits within the quiet night.
Yet in its depths, the fire churns.

The wing is broken, yet it flies,
It soars through storms that rage below.
And though it falls, it never dies.

The hope is lost, yet still we pray,
It flickers faintly in the dark.
Yet still, we fight, and still, we stay.

- Hex

The wind it howls through empty skies,
It carries whispers of the past.
Its call is one we can’t disguise.

It weeps for days that slowly rise,
For moments fleeting, yet so vast.
The wind it howls through empty skies.

The world has watched as time defies,
Each breath a storm that cannot last.
Its call is one we can’t disguise.

Through every dream, the wind complies,
It guides us where we stand surpassed.
The wind it howls through empty skies.

Beneath the clouds, the soul it tries,
To find a home, yet remains cast.
Its call is one we can’t disguise.

In quiet hearts, the wind replies,
A song of loss that’s fading fast.
The wind it howls through empty skies,
Its call is one we can’t disguise.

The night will swallow all that’s bright,
And silence falls with soft regret.
In shadows deep, we lose our sight.

The stars will dim, the moon’s alight,
Yet still we hear the softest threat.
The night will swallow all that’s bright.

The echoes of the past ignite,
Each whispered word a cold duet.
In shadows deep, we lose our sight.

Our hopes are lost, our dreams take flight,
And in their place, we feel the debt.
The night will swallow all that’s bright.

The world is veiled in endless night,
Where silence sings a cruel vignette.
In shadows deep, we lose our sight.

Yet still we long to end the fight,
And so we march, our hearts in debt.
The night will swallow all that’s bright,
In shadows deep, we lose our sight.

Beneath the pale moon, I stand alone,
The sky holds secrets left untold.
Its light upon the earth is shown.

The night, a dream, so cold as stone,
Its silence whispers, faint and bold.
Beneath the pale moon, I stand alone.

The world will fade, the winds have flown,
And time moves slow, yet hearts still hold.
Its light upon the earth is shown.

Where shadows dance, and stars have grown,
The stories of the lost unfold.
Beneath the pale moon, I stand alone.

I wonder if the stars have known
The way my soul has grown so cold.
Its light upon the earth is shown.

I search the sky, but find no throne,
For kings and queens are bought and sold.
Beneath the pale moon, I stand alone,
Its light upon the earth is shown.

The fire burns with red and gold,
It crackles like a restless dream.
The winds will carry what’s untold.

The burning sky will soon unfold,
Its flames, they rise with steady gleam.
The fire burns with red and gold.

A tale of ancient wrath, so bold,
The sky ignites with a scream.
The winds will carry what’s untold.

Beneath the storm, hearts will hold,
Their strength is more than it may seem.
The fire burns with red and gold.

Through ash and ember, stories old,
We walk where shadows softly beam.
The winds will carry what’s untold.

In heat and fury, we are sold,
Yet still we chase the fleeting dream.
The fire burns with red and gold,
The winds will carry what’s untold.

The moonlight whispers, soft as air,
Its glow will vanish with the dawn.
We fade as shadows everywhere.

The stars above are never fair,
They flicker, then they all are gone.
The moonlight whispers, soft as air.

I walk this path with a lost prayer,
The silence presses, dark and drawn.
We fade as shadows everywhere.

The night's embrace, it fills with care,
Yet time betrays, it lingers on.
The moonlight whispers, soft as air.

In dreams, we find a world to share,
But by the morning, all is gone.
We fade as shadows everywhere.

Our souls will dance beyond despair,
But death will call and take them on.
The moonlight whispers, soft as air,
We fade as shadows everywhere.