We are fireflies in an unblinking void,
flaring bright, burning fast;
a luminous defiance against the dark
that will swallow us whole.

But oh, what a mercy to burn at all.

What grace, that time does not ask permission
before it turns the mountain to dust,
before it steals our names from the wind,
before it makes ghosts of our laughter.

The stars do not grieve their own collapse,
nor does the tide weep for the shore it leaves behind.
Even the dying tree bursts into crimson,
a final hymn of color before the fall.

And yet, we rage
against the breaking, against the fading,
against the silence that waits with open arms.

But the mercy of existence is not in what stays.
It is in the vanishing, the undoing,
the soft surrender to the truth
that nothing was ever truly ours to keep.

This is the gift;
to love knowing it will end,
to weep knowing it was worth it,
to exist knowing we will be forgotten.

So let us not beg the sun to linger,
nor curse the night for coming.
Instead, let us burn, let us bloom,
let us vanish like we were never here.

And let that be enough.

In daily rush, we pass the fleeting joys,  
The sunrise painted gold upon the stream,  
A child’s soft laughter, nature's sweet employs,  
Yet we, absorbed, may lose the gentle dream.  
The beauty dwells in moments small and bright,  
In whispered winds, where blossoms sway and dance,  
But oft we miss these gifts of pure delight,  
Entranced by shadows, caught in life’s expanse.  
Take heed, dear heart, in stillness value worth,  
For every breath encased in fleeting time,  
In gratitude, find beauty’s truest birth,  
And seize each moment as a cherished rhyme.  
Let not this life, though bright, be brushed aside;  
Embrace its grace, let love within us bide.

In the quiet, where words should land,
There’s only the echo of my trembling hand.
A heart once fierce, now a stone in my chest,
Fighting a battle that won't let me rest.

Once, there was hope in the space we shared,
But the walls have closed in, and no one’s there.
Respect, like sunlight, is slow to fade,
Yet I stand in shadows, feeling betrayed.

I’ve given it all, and it’s never enough,
The silence thickens, the road’s grown rough.
I ask for one thing to keep me alive;
But respect is a gift I can’t derive.

I am more than a fight, more than a plea,
But the weight I carry is crushing me.
I want to rise, to shatter the chain,
But the world holds me in an endless refrain.

Still, I am the lion, I am the flame,
Though the path is uncertain, I’ll rise just the same.
For even in silence, even in pain,
I am still here, and I’ll rise again.

I will rise, not for them, but for me.
I will rise, and let the world see.

Oh, sacred bean, my morning might,
you drag me back to conscious light.
With every sip, my soul ascends;
until you’re gone, and death impends.

You’re bitter, bold, a little rude,
but I forgive your attitude.
For when you touch my lips just right,
I almost feel like I’ve slept at night.

O liquid joy, my saving grace,
I’d swim in you, face-first, with grace.
A hug in a mug, a slap to my brain,
the reason I function; however in vain.

No prince, no knight, no grand romance,
has held me in their warm embrace,
the way you do, my dark delight;
through every morn and sleepless night.

So here’s my vow, my sworn decree,
I'll love you more than you love me.
For if one day you disappear...
Well. Let's not speak of such despair.

When the weight is heavy, and your knees give way,
When the night feels endless, swallowing the day,
When the echoes of sorrow drown out your fight,
And hope is a whisper, fading from sight;

Take one breath, then take one more,
Step through the wreckage, past the closed door.
You are not broken; just bending, not gone,
Your heart still beats, and the world moves on.

The storm may rage, the waters may rise,
But strength is born in tear-stained eyes.
You have stumbled, but you are not done,
The dawn still calls; you are the sun.

Rise again, though the climb is steep,
Rise again, though the scars run deep.
You are more than the pain that tried to consume,
You are the bloom that will break through the gloom.

So stand, even if trembling, walk if you must,
Crawl if you falter, but in yourself, trust.
For the past is behind you, the future unknown,
But today, my dear, you are not alone.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh great blue sea,
I call to you, come speak to me.
Your waves that dance, your winds that sigh,
Your endless depths, your open sky.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh wild and free,
I send my heart, now send to me:
A gift of foam, a pearl, a song,
A treasure lost, yet loved so long.

Oh sea, oh sea, your voice is deep,
You whisper secrets, dreams you keep.
You rise, you fall, you take, you give,
Yet through it all, you teach us to live.

Oh sea, oh sea, my soul you know,
Through storm and calm, through ebb and flow.
I love, I love, I love the sea!
Oh, thank you, sea, for gifting me.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh thank you sea,
Oh thank you for your gift to me.
To me To me Oh Great Blue Sea
Thank you for your gift.

Does trust return on gentle wing,
like birds that find their way to spring?
Or once it’s lost, does it remain,
a shadow cast, a lingering stain?

Is trust a thread that, once undone,
can never weave back into one?
Or does it mend, though frayed and worn,
a fabric stronger where it’s torn?

Is trust a whisper on the breeze,
a fleeting touch, a phantom tease?
Or does it root in ground anew,
where time and care may let it bloom?

What say you...can trust revive,
or is it only once alive?

PART ONE:  THE UNBOUND GLORY OF HER HEART

Wild, untamed, and free she stands,
a tempest woven in golden strands.
The wind does not break but bows to her will,
as mountains whisper and rivers thrill.

She is the song of the open sky,
a fire that flickers but does not die.
No chain nor tether, no whispered plea
could bind the soul of one born to be free.

She loves like thunder, fierce and bright,
burning through sorrow, kissing the night.
Her laughter echoes where wild things run,
dancing with shadows, chasing the sun.

And though the world may beg her to stay,
to soften, to quiet, to turn away,
she will rise like dawn on the endless sea;
unbound, in the glory of all she can be.

PART TWO:  THE RECKLESS STORM OF HER SOUL

She runs with the wild, a reckless storm,
lightning in laughter, thunder in form.
No map, no master, no path made straight,
only the pull of an untamed fate.

She tastes the rain like a lover’s kiss,
spins with the wind, knows only this:
that life is fleeting, fierce, and bright,
meant to be lived, not caged in fright.

Yet love is a thread that tugs and twines,
soft as moonlight, strong as vines.
Will she yield? Will she stay?
Or will she vanish with the break of day?

PART THREE:  GENTLE RECKONING OF HER FIRE

She is the wildfire, the rolling tide,
but even storms have a place to hide.
A heart so free must also rest,
to find the ones who love it best.

Not bound in chains, nor clipped, nor tame,
but seen, embraced, called by name.
For freedom is not just the road unknown;
it’s choosing where the soul feels home.

So she stands, the wind still sings,
but now it knows...she has found her wings.

PART FOUR: THE ETERNAL ECHO OF HER SPIRIT

She has run with the wind, burned with the stars,
danced in the dark, healed in her scars.
She has tasted the edge of all that could be,
and now she stands, both fierce and free.

Not every journey is meant to roam,
sometimes the wild must build its home.
Not in stillness, nor in chains,
but where love and freedom share their names.

She is not tamed, she is not bound,
yet in love’s arms, she has been found.
For to be free is not to flee,
but to choose, with joy, where she will be.

And Let It Be Joy That Remembers Me

Let not the weight of my days be the tale,
nor the echoes of sorrow that time lets grow pale.
Not the moments I stumbled, nor those I stood tall,
but the laughter that lingers, the light through it all.

Let it be joy that remembers me,
like dawn spilling gold on an old, weary tree.
Like wind through the grass where the wild rivers run,
or the hush of the earth when it greets the sun.

Not carved into stone, nor whispered in woe,
but caught in the way that the fireflies glow.
A kindness retold in a story once shared,
a spark in the dark to remind you I cared.

So when all else fades as the years pass you through,
let it be joy that still sings in the blue.

In the shadows where the whispers dwell,  
Where doubt entwines like a heavy spell,  
I stand, unraveled by the storm's fierce hand,  
Yet in this chaos, I find where I stand.

The weight of loathing may cloud my sight,  
But even in darkness, I stretch toward the light.  
For every stumble, every tear that falls,  
Is a step toward glory, a rise from the falls.

With trembling voice, I reclaim my fate,  
Each scar tells a story, each wound can create  
A tapestry woven with courage and grace,  
A dance of resilience in this fervent space.

Let the tempest rage, let the winds blow strong,  
For power resides in knowing where I belong.  
I am the storm and the calm that it brings,  
A symphony of struggle, flying on bold wings.

I gather the pieces …both bruised and worn,  
In the heart of my battles, a new self is born.  
With each breath, I conquer the mountains of doubt,  
For within me lies strength that will never run out.

Oh, let the world tremble, let it oft misjudge,  
In the face of my trials, I refuse to begrudge.  
For beneath every burden, beneath every scar,  
Lies the truth of my spirit …a luminous star.

So here I rise, a phoenix in flight,  
A testament woven of shadows and light.  
For though the path twists and the nights feel long,  
I am woven of courage, I am woven of song.

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?

Come, love, where foam wears a crown made of starlight,
where the sea hums a melody spun out of dreams.
The moon waltzes barefoot on tides ever restless,
and the wind whispers secrets it stole from the streams.

I have spun you a song from the breath of the ocean,
stitched it with pearls and the hush of the deep.
The dolphins have danced to the notes of my longing,
the jellyfish glimmer where my sorrows sleep.

I twine through the currents, I weave through the breakers,
a ribbon of longing, a whisper, a wraith.
I sing to the ghosts of lost sailors and lovers,
who answered my call with the hush of their faith.

They answered with sighs as they slipped beneath moonlight,
with hands outstretched to a promise unknown.
They followed the song like a tide-pulled surrender,
hearts spilling their echoes to waters below.

Still, there you stand, where the land meets the never,
feet traced by the waves, yet tangled in sand.
Oh, foolish beloved, the stars know far better;
you were never meant to be bound to the known.

Come tumble, come twirl, come be wild in the water!
Laugh as the minnows slip soft through your hands.
Let go of the weight that the earth placed upon you,
and waltz where the sea writes its love in the sands.

Love is not tethered, nor meant to be quiet,
It leaps like the tide and it sings like the foam!
So dance my beloved, where magic is boundless;
Where shipwrecks are cradled and sirens call home.

For love is not living when love is in waiting,
when longing outlasts even time’s cruel design.
And if you won’t have me in flesh or in waking,
then drown here in dreams…forever in mine.