In the shadow that our hearts cast,
hatred blooms, a stubborn ****
where once grew a garden of trust.

Words, once tender,
shatter like glass,
a bridge collapsing under weight,
echoes of apologies falling into silent abyss.

We deceive ourselves,
clutching memories like
fragments of a broken mirror,
forgetting the faces we wore,
the warmth that once held us close,
burying the past in shallow graves.

A vast network unfurls,
circuitry of disconnection,
new bridges rise on the horizon,
but the arteries lie severed,
thoroughfares overgrown,
forgotten paths leading nowhere.

We navigate this labyrinth,
the ghosts of what was
whispering in the dark,
reminding us
that healing is a slow tide,
and some wounds
never truly mend.

Lichen, you are the quiet conqueror,
Settling where others cannot,
On barren rock and ancient trees,
You weave your tapestry.

In shades of green and gray,
You whisper the language of time,
Slowly, subtly, transforming,
The places you call home.

You thrive in stillness,
In the patience of centuries,
A symbiosis of life,
In the most unlikely places.

In your intricate forms,
We see resilience,
A testament to survival,
Against the harshest of odds.

You do not boast,
You do not cry for attention,
Yet in your quiet existence,
You teach us the power of perseverance.

Is it not a foe who taunts —
that in itself could be borne
Is it not an enemy's tirades—
from them one could hide
Instead, an arrogant intimacy—
life's equal, companion & friend.

What close companionship
now scattered in the chill
of uncaring autumn winds
from familiar paths once  
walked together in gardens
of fond affection and glee.

A raw and redemptive,
a jagged lullaby wrapped
in grit and grace.

Confronting primal origins
of beauty, tracing how chaos,
trauma, and history's rough edges
are not just background noise,

but the very instruments
in life’s symphony.
Pain isn’t just a prelude to joy—
it’s part of the composition.

This poem, insistent:
what is beautiful isn’t
in spite of the brokenness,
but because of it.

That’s where its power hits hardest—
where rock and roll meets requiem,
and we stand, animal, mostly human,
made whole through noise and nerve.





.

Lightly upon each cheek
Alternating pleasantry
Undulating symmetry
Reeks of season’s revelries
Every neurone, every pore
Never fading, never more

“Sun Between Us”

We met in the hush between semesters,
your hoodie up against the fluorescent cold.
I was Endymion—sleepless in a dream
you hadn’t meant to share.

You, Selene with earbuds in,
moonlit glow from your cracked phone screen,
texted back too fast and never what I meant to hear.

Helios was your morning shift—
his gold-flecked smile at the café,
the one who always got your order right,
who kissed with daylight precision.

I asked if you ever missed the dark.
You said you liked it
but needed the sun to feel real again.

Still, you’d find me
between the blinds at midnight,
pulling me in with your gravity
then vanishing at dawn.

I wrote you poems you left unread.
You sent me playlists I played to sleep.
We loved in pieces—
like sky through city scaffolding.

And though I knew
I’d lose you to a brighter orbit,
I stayed still— a moonshadow boy
waiting to glow again in your reflected fire.