In the quiet shadows of bustling streets,  
Where smiles are painted, but sorrow repeats,  
A stranger passes, eyes lost in dreams,  
Behind their facade, a heart quietly screams.  
You cannot know what burdens they bear,  
The weight of the world, too heavy to share,  
Each step they take, a dance with their fears,  
Each laugh a mask, concealing lost years.  
What storms have they weathered, what nights spent alone?  
The echoes of silence, the ache of the unknown,  
You cannot see the tears that they've cried,  
Or the dreams that lie dormant, the hope that has died.  
Kindness, a whisper, a touch on the skin,  
A reminder of light in the depths of the din,  
A warm word, a gesture, in a world run cold,  
A gentleness offered when courage feels bold.  
So be kind, dear heart, for the cost is but small,  
A moment of grace can uplift through it all,  
For we are all fighting our own hidden wars,  
And kindness, like armor, can open up doors.  
When you reach for another, be mindful, be true,  
For the battles we bear, we’re not just passing through,  
In the tapestry woven of stories untold,  
We find threads of compassion, more precious than gold.  
So tread softly, dear soul, on this fragile terrain,  
And let kindness be the balm that eases the pain,  
Though you can’t see their struggle, their fight, or their art,  
Know that kindness can heal the unseen aching heart.

Ocean whispers, sandy gleam,  
Waves that dance in sunlight's beam.  
Seashells scatter, tides that play,  
Whimsy carried in the spray.
  
Gentle breezes, soft and light,  
Kissing shores with pure delight.  
Children’s laughter, joyously found,  
Echoes where the sea meets ground.  

Crimson sun begins to wane,  
Golden hues on rippling gain.  
Footprints traced in the warm, fine sand,  
Memories etched by nature's hand.  

Curly waves in frothy white,  
Embrace the dusk, surrendering night.  
Stars awaken, shimmering bright,  
Mirrored in the ocean’s sight.  

Moonlit paths on water's face,  
A secret dance, a timeless grace.  
Whales call softly from afar,  
Carrying tales of where they are.  

Seabirds wheel in evening's hush,  
Wings outstretched in silent rush.  
The ocean’s heart, a lullaby,  
Sings of dreams beneath the sky.  

So here, beside this endless blue,  
We find our peace, our spirits renew.  
For in the tide’s eternal sway,  
Life’s simple wonders find their way.

A sunrise melts over the horizon like warm apricot jam...
golden, rich, and glistening with the first breath of light.
It spills over the land in slow, honeyed ribbons,
seeping into the earth, into the marrow of the morning.
The sky unfurls, blushing with sugared tangerine and rose,
soft as a held breath, deep as longing.

The air is thick with the scent of wild honey and ripe fruit,
heavy with something unnamed, something ancient.
A breeze, warm and feather-light, brushes against your skin,
carrying whispers of things lost and found,
of summers long buried beneath the turning of years.

Mist clings to the earth like a lover reluctant to let go,
curling in the hollows, swirling in the golden hush.
The tender spill of dawn drapes itself over the fields,
weaving light into the trembling hands of wildflowers,
each petal cupped around a glistening prayer of dew.

The river sighs, its voice low and endless,
a slow hymn to time itself.
Birdsong quivers in the air,
sharp and bright as the memory of laughter once held close.
Everything shivers on the edge of becoming...
the earth, the sky, even you, standing there,
barefoot in the quiet ache of morning.

For a moment, you are nothing but breath and bone,
woven into the hush of something vast and infinite.
The day stirs, stretching toward the waiting world,
but you remain...caught in the fragile eternity
of the first light, of the golden hush,
of a morning too beautiful to name.

Where the Indian paintbrush blooms,
and the mountain lupine sighs,
the world is draped in fire and dusk,
beneath cathedral skies.

The peaks rise up like silent songs,
in tones of stone and white,
where glaciers drink the breath of stars
and spill their silver light.

The rivers weave through meadowed gold,
soft ribbons, cool and bright,
they whisper tales of time and stone,
of shadow, love, and flight.

The wind, a ghost of ancient hymns,
runs wild through trembling pine,
it calls the heart to break, to mend,
to lose, to seek, to find.

Oh, wanderer, let yourself at ease,
look from where you came.
See the ancient, soul-kissed forest,
and remember...the earth still knows your name

I stand upon the precipice,
gazing back at a dream.
A thread once loose and wandering,
now woven into a seam.

A tapestry of longing,
stitched with hope and fear,
each moment spun in silence,
each choice now drawing near.

The picture forms before me,
a life I dared to weave,
but dreams demand a reckoning;
shall I stay, or shall I leave?

The depths below stretch wide, unspoken,
a hollow song, a siren’s call,
but somewhere past the fear, I wonder…
what if this is not a fall?

What if I was made to fly?