In the quiet chambers of the soul,
Where whispers weave and echoes roll,
A sacred bond, a whispered vow,
Between us two, sealed here and now.

No eyes shall see, no ears shall hear,
The tender truths we hold so near.
For this must ever be our thread,
Unbroken, though by time misled.

The world may beckon, loud and grand,
Its curious reach, its prying hand,
Yet what we share, they'll never see,
A universe gently spun silently.

Oh, how the stars conspire to hide
This luminous fire we hold inside!
A treasure buried, rich, unseen,
In fields of shadows, evergreen.

Your voice, a song no bard could sing,
Your touch, a feathered, fleeting thing.
The words we speak in twilight's glow
Are whispers only we can know.

No keys can turn, no locks shall break,
The solemn oath we dared to make.
Not even time, with ceaseless tread,
Can strip this secret we have bred.

Between us flows a current deep,
A river dreams itself to keep,
And in its depths, the truth shall stay,
Unmoved by night, untouched by day.

Let others chase the fleeting gleam,
The transient glow of waking dream.
For ours is hidden, vast, and free,
A realm that lives with only thee.

And so, this secret, bound in grace,
Will linger in our timeless space.
A covenant no eye can see,
Just you, my heart, and only me.

They called you kind, a gentle soul,
Soft as petals, sweet and whole.
You bore the weight of every storm,
A refuge where the ruthless swarm.

You folded yourself in careful lines,
Shrank to fit their grand designs.
Smiled through wounds they couldn't see,
Convinced that love meant loyalty.

But kindness should not taste like chains,
Nor drown beneath another's pains.
To give is grace, but not to lose,
The voice, the light, the right to choose.

Why must your comfort come last in line?
Why must you dim so they may shine?
A heart so vast, yet bound so tight,
A sky eclipsed to spare the night.

No more. No more the whispered "yes,"
That bends your spine in self-duress.
No more apologies for thin air,
For taking space, for standing there.

To choose yourself is not unkind,
Not cruel, not selfish, just aligned.
Boundaries drawn with steady hands,
Are sacred vows, not harsh demands.

And those who love you, who truly see,
Will bless your rise, will set you free.
The rest will fall, like autumn leaves,
Carried off on silent eves.

So stand, unshaken, bold and true,
Unbowed by guilt they place on you.
For peace is not in being small,
It's daring, fully, to be your all.

Oh, tender balm, the sweetest art,
A force unseen that mends the heart,
Through whispered winds and golden light,
Love heals the wounds of endless night.

Its touch is soft, yet deeply sure,
A salve for pain no time could cure.
In every glance, in every sigh,
It weaves a bridge where sorrows lie.

Beneath the shadows, cold and deep,
Where silent fears and heartbreaks sleep,
Love stirs the soul, ignites the flame,
And teaches us we're not to blame.

It breaks the chains of loss and woe,
Through gentle streams, it bids us grow.
A symphony of hope it plays,
And paints with grace the darkest days.

When grief has silenced all our songs,
And life feels cruel, unjust, and wrong,
Love bends the air with soft refrain,
And fills the cracks with joy again.

It dwells in hands that hold with care,
In every prayer, in every stare.
In laughter shared and tears that flow,
Love whispers, "Child, you're not alone."

Its healing power transcends the scars,
Unites the earth, connects the stars.
A boundless force, it knows no end,
A steadfast guide, a truest friend.

Through love, the shattered heart is whole,
It breathes new life into the soul.
Oh, sacred cure, eternal grace,
The healer time cannot replace.

For love is more than fleeting bliss;
It lives in every tender kiss,
In acts of kindness, pure and true,
The healing of love renews, anew.

Into the dream you come, unbidden,
A shadow forged from light, a storm concealed.
The delicate strands of my quiet haven,
Unraveled beneath your touch, unhealed.

Across the soft carpet of my reverie,
You tread with hobnail boots, a jarring song.
Each step a symphony of discord,
Yet strangely, I crave you to linger long.

The velvet mists of my tender musings
Once kissed my soul with whispers sweet.
Now, torn asunder by your intrusion,
They coil around your resolute feet.

Oh, but how can I resist this chaos?
This beautiful wreckage you leave in your wake?
You trample the fragile blooms of my solace,
But in their ruin, new dreams awake.

For each mark you etch on my tranquil spirit
Speaks of passion, raw and wild, untamed.
You are the storm to my placid meadow,
The fire that leaves me scalded, yet named.

Do you know the weight of your intrusion?
Do you see the paths you've scarred and worn?
And yet, I cannot bid you to leave,
For in your rapture, I am reborn.

Into the dream you come, relentless,
And I, the keeper of this fragile space,
Stand transfixed, as you carve your essence,
Into the contours of this sacred place.

So tread, my tempest, tread without mercy,
Let your boots resound in my dream's embrace.
For though you shatter, though you unmake me,
In your destruction, I find my grace.

(The Weightless Dawn)

Oh, anxious heart, so tight in its hold,
A whispering storm, both silent and bold.
It creeps like shadows before the light,
Stealing the peace from the depths of night.

It tells you stories carved in fear,
Echoes of doubt you should not hear.
It pulls you under, a swirling tide,
Yet strength still stirs from deep inside.

Breathe, dear soul, let stillness grow,
Like rivers learning where to flow.
Not every thought is yours to keep,
Let them rise, then let them sleep.

For you are not the weight you bear,
Not tangled worry, nor thin-worn air.
You are the sky, vast and wide,
Holding the storms, yet letting them glide.

Inhale the dawn, exhale the past,
Not every storm is meant to last.
Feel the earth beneath your feet,
Steady, solid, calm, complete.

The moon still glows, the stars still shine,
Hope is etched in every line.
And when the night feels far too long,
Know in your soul, you still belong.

So take each moment, slow and kind,
A love-lit path within your mind.
Anxiety fades, like mist at sea,
And in its place, you set yourself free.

I have walked through evenings bent with silence,
where the hush of the streetlamp hums my name,
a hero, perhaps, in the whisper of one,
a villain in the frown of another.

I have been carved in shadows by the wary,
painted golden by the kind.
To some, I am a tempest in an unmade room,
to others, the hush of rain against glass.

Was it not yesterday I was brave,
standing tall in borrowed boots,
tilting at windmills with a fool's delight?
And yet, in another's eye, I trembled,
a thing too soft for the weight of days.

Oh, but how I have been too much!
A song sung sharp at the wrong table,
a fire burning too close to brittle walls.
And yet, to some, I have been warmth,
the quiet pulse of a lighthouse on tired waters.

I have been named.
Carved into stories I did not write.
Draped in colours I never chose.
Told where to stand, when to bow,
but the stage shifts beneath my feet.

The world is a house of mirrors,
each face a different truth,
each window another version of me.

So let me laugh at the fickle tide,
let me dance in the winds of contradiction,
let me live - oh, let me live!
not as the world sculpts me to be,
but as the wild, wandering shape of my own heart.

The day fell like a crumpled note,
tossed into the wastebasket of time,
a whisper, a cough, a footstep fading,
the sound of nothing,
the echo of things left unsaid.

I walked through streets without pavement,
over stones that remembered me not.
Each window was an eye, unblinking,
a stare of glass indifferent to grief.

The wind pressed against my cheek,
not a caress, not a blow,
just a presence,
like the weight of a name no longer called.

I did not weep, though my heart did,
a different kind of pain,
a betrayal of the body's rituals.

Tears demand permission,
but silence sneaks in, unbidden,
settles between the ribs,
lodges behind the throat,
a ghost pressing against the edges of breath.

And so the hours unravelled,
like a frayed sleeve in a forgotten coat,
threadbare, loose at the seams,
and still I walked,
searching for the shape of sorrow,
in the absence of rain.

Night came in its sensible shoes,
soft-footed, practical, gray.
No stars, no moon,
only the hum of a world
that did not know I was breaking.

I sat on the edge of the bed,
hands resting like relics on my knees.
And the heart wept again,
as it always does,
quietly,
where no one can see.