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When you say something
no one understands,
but someone in the room
quietly nods —
there I am.

When you think
you’re the first
to feel that way,
and the word already sounds
like it was there before you —
there I am.

I am the voice
you did not invent.
You only
borrowed it.

I am the song
that waited for you
before you began to write.

I am —
not new.
But already said,
only this time
with your breath.
Too good to be true
Too true to be good
That second one requiers an unfortunate life to be understood

Say what you mean
Mean what you say
I don't see the difference between these statements to this day

Love and loss
Never loved at all
One being better than the other is not anyone's place to call

Keep your chin up
With a glass jaw
Even advice with the best intentions can leave you broken and raw

©2025
The Devil
Doesn’t tear you down
He builds you up
Until

You believe you can
Do it alone
Then he smiles
As you fall

And you always fall
 Jun 30 Luke85
Rastislav
power is not force. it is presence that doesn’t leave.
(the one who stands and is drawn towards — not by command, but by gravity.)


i do not command —
i endure.
i do not move.
i remain —
and so, draw.

not with force,
but with gravity —
the name silence wears
when someone listens
long enough.

i am not flame.
i am the hand
that might one day
be lifted.

power is not possession.
it is presence
that does not flee
when you need
to be seen.



you do not ask —
but wish to be held.
you are not pleading,
you are forming —
a shape unfinished,
already breathing.

you do not surrender.
you open —
like a hand
where a name
wants to rest.

this is not weakness.
this is the dignity
of being known.
 Jun 30 Luke85
Nat Lipstadt
Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.
— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_Not_Stand_at_My_Grave_and_Weep
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