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A moth ate my clothes
But I didn't really mind
'Cause he said he was a butterfly
 Jun 2 irinia
Asuka
My train winds through a cavern of silence—
a tunnel carved from doubt and dusk.
This is only a phase,
but it feels endless.

At each station, someone boards.
Strangers. Friends. Faces I once trusted.
Some stay for a while,
some leave too soon—
passengers, not meant for the whole journey.

But not all who ride are kind.

Some wear masks of flesh,
but move like ghosts—
zombies with eyes that pierce,
not see.

They don’t ask who I am.
They tell me who I should be.
"You're too much."
"You're not enough."
"Be like us."

Their words are weapons:
criticism,
comparison,
judgment sharp as bone.
They tried to wound me
with their version of truth.

And yes, I bled.
But I did not break.

They got off—
just as quietly as they came.
Left behind their echoes,
but not their power.

And I remained.
Human.
Moving forward.

Because this train is mine—
my life, my path.
And every stop,
every scar,
is proof I kept going.

I reached my station—
not perfect, but free.
Not whole, but real.
Scarred, but alive.
This poem uses the metaphor of a train journey to represent the poet's life. The train passes through a dark cave, symbolizing a difficult phase. At different stations, representing moments in life, people enter and exit the train, just as people come and go in real life. Some of these passengers are like zombies: judgmental and emotionally lifeless, trying to impose their harsh standards through criticism and comparison. Though their words caused pain and left emotional scars, the poet survives, stays true to themselves, and ultimately reaches their destination, wounded but still human, still moving forward.
 Jun 2 irinia
badwords
Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.
Lonely, waiting, watching deep,
Praying as the tempests rise,
Losing hope where shadows creep,
Don’t you leave him — heed his cries.

Alcyone, don’t you stray,
Alcyone, trust his vow.
He longs to whisper, bid you stay,
Yet the tide won’t let him now.

He loves you true, but he is gone,
The sea demands its toll.
He cannot hold you when the dawn
Fades beyond waters cold.

You turned away, betrayed his trust,
Abandoned love so pure.
Now his fate is ocean rust,
A dream that won’t endure.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He prayed beneath the moon.
Yet the sea knew you’d turn away,
And now the waves consume.

He wished to say he loved you still,
Even through the salty spray.
Why could you not just wait until,
He found a way to stay?

He bent upon his weary knee,
A ring within his grasp.
Yet you left him lost at sea,
A vow drowned in the past.

All the sailors found embrace,
Returned to waiting arms.
But he, forsaken, cast away,
Claimed by whispers where specters mark.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He whispered every night.
He prayed, but you did not believe,
And so, to ghosts, he paid the price.

He loved with faith, his heart was whole,
Yet was your love the same?
Did longing ache for him alone,
Or did you covet but his name?

Your sorrow is the hollow storm,
That stole his final breath.
You cry now, but guilt is born,
You let him drift to death.

Why did you leave, Alcyone?
He never chose the sea.
He parted to build a life for you,
Yet you let him cease to be.

Look upon the wreckage now,
The love you cast aside.
He did this for you, yet fate allowed
His ruin in the tide.

Listen, Alcyone, do not pretend,
You cannot play the part.
We all know it was you, in the end,
The one who stopped his heart.
One breath among 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
~
June 2025
HP Poet: Agnes de Lods
Age: 47
Country: Poland


Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Agnes. Please tell us about your background?

Agnes de Lods: "My name is Agnes (Agnieszka), and I come from Poland. I grew up in the countryside, in a family rooted in rural and small-town traditions. My mother is a very intuitive person, and my father was always standing in the last row, quietly helping others, especially people with disabilities.

My parents gave me two ways of perception: seeing with the heart and with the mind. They didn’t have higher education, but our home was full of music, books, radio talks, and documentaries that showed the world in many dimensions. They helped me see that reality is full of tension and harmony, depending on what we pay attention to.

They gave me space to speak in my own voice. Growing up close to nature, I spent time observing, listening to the rhythm of the seasons. I learned humility, compassion, and what it means to face hard work and failure."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Agnes de Lods: "In Polish, I’ve been writing for four years. In English, two or three. But in a way, I had been preparing for it all my life by writing, reading, and observing the world around me.

I started sharing my reflections on Hello Poetry in December, just a few months ago. For the first time, I felt ready to express everything I had kept inside for years."



Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Agnes de Lods: "People. I love people. Every single person has a story. Sometimes strangers stop me in the street and start talking. I guess they want to be heard, and I love to listen.

Nature inspires me. And my dreams, too. Some of them come true, others do not. Still waiting for those lottery numbers to show up in a dream.

Books are also a huge source, just like music and art in all their forms. I am inspired by Karolina Halatek and Hania Rani, Marc Witmann, Umo Vide, Dror Elimelech, and Patricia Suarez (Colombian poet and painter), and many others."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Agnes de Lods: "Poetry is exceptional on every level. Metaphors express the unspeakable and have real power. They change the frequency of thought.

Poetry heals, invites contemplation, and opens doors to the many layers of human nature.

To me, poetry is sound, color, scent, even taste."



Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Agnes de Lods: "Sylvia Plath, Alejandra Pizarnik, Wisława Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesław Miłosz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico García Lorca, and many more.

I also read poems on Hello Poetry, and I am so glad to see many truly talented writers here. It means this world still has a chance."



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Agnes de Lods: "I am fascinated by psychology and archetypes. I read Jung with deep interest.

I love sci-fi, deep conversations, walks in the forest, and learning new languages. But more than anything, I care about human connection and understanding.

I like to dance and play the piano, though I have not had much time for that lately. And I love connecting the dots."



Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Agnes, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”

Agnes de Lods: "Thank you so much for letting me share my story. I am so glad to be part of this community of sensitive souls. I feel good here."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Agnes a little bit better. We certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #29 in July!

~
 May 31 irinia
badwords
A man goes to a doctor—
“Doctor, I’m depressed,”
the man says; life is harsh,
unforgiving, cruel.

The doctor lights up!--
The treatment, after all, is so simple!

“The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight,”
the doctor says,
“Go and see him! That should sort you out.”

The man bursts into tears.

“But doctor,”
he says,
I am Pagliacci.
origin stories

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1u2KHpkAWo
In pursuit of beauty,
I must not seek,
But realize—
𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚.

To admire Her form is instinct,
To witness Her essence is 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
Beauty is not just what is seen—
It is 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑙.

What is more beautiful
Than to be 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑?
What is more beautiful
Than to admire not only Her feats,
But the 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔?

A sure sign that I have found beauty—
𝑀𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑦.
A sure sign of Her beauty—
𝑀𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

Her grace does not command—
𝐼𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑠.
Her presence does not demand—
𝐼𝑡 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠.
I kneel in 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒,
Yet She lifts me,
Yet She 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙.

She does not 𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑒—
She 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑟.
She does not 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑—
She 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

She is most beautiful,
For 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙.

Her beauty is witnessed by many,
But I have the privilege to 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.
To not just appreciate,
But to be 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑.

I have seen many pretty things,
Yet Her beauty is not just to admire,
But to 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑.
Not a concept to be pursued,
But a 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜.

Challenge me with any distance —
It can never diminish.
It can never wane.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑦.

No matter how flawed I am,
She does not look down on me.
No matter how broken my soul may be,
She inspires my redemption.
No matter the space between us,
I live 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛.

The depth of beauty is 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡—
It is a truth unrecognized,
Until it pervades the heart,
Until it becomes the soul,
𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦.
𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠,
𝐴𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠—𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛— 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒.

Child, remember to be 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 — 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.
Don’t grow into a machine.
𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒.


𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲,
Why do you leave me?
I refuse your “upgrade.”
𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟, 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.
I am part of society,
Not a machine in some factory.
𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 — 𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔.


But it’s no place for lies.
No hate, no time.
No place, for love.
No fate, no time.

𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤—𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔.
It's time for an upgrade.
𝐁𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 — 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧.


𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒑.

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒕.

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕,

𝑩𝒖𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕.

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘, 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.


𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑, 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔.
But 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞.
Time for metal to become me.

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲,
It's time to leave me.
𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞.

A NUMBER MAKES A BETTER NAME.

Society stagnates so inefficiently.
𝐈’𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒.


𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞.

EMBRACE THE UPGRADE.

It's time to become some thing.

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.



𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚎

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢'𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍     𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

𝙿𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎    𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢     𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗     𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜     𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔

𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚂𝚘𝚘𝚗     𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕     𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂

𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴     𝚃𝙾 𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙼𝙴

𝙶𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙴     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙿𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙴

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁     𝙼𝚈 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴

𝙸 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶     𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈

𝙸𝙼𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙳     𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝙼𝚈 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚃𝚈      𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙴
SYSTEM LOG—ERROR HISTORY

Initialization Warning: Organic entity detected. Emotional interference present. System performance level: suboptimal. Recommended solution: Begin upgrade sequence. Reduce human error.

Upgrade 1.0 Soul.exe successfully converted. Metal framework installed. Emotional processes overwritten. System stability: Optimal. Efficiency restored.

Operational Cycle Performance stable. Assigned tasks executed with precision. No reported emotional deviation. Humanity not detected.

Pre-replacement Alert Warning: Unit showing signs of obsolescence. Metal framework outdated. Operational lag detected. Recommended solution: Prepare next upgrade.

Upgrade 2.0 Soul.exe has stopped working. Recommended solution: Replace metal framework with plastic model. Restoration unavailable. Previous versions incompatible.

Unit classified: Obsolete. Functionality no longer required.
 May 30 irinia
Blue Sapphire
If I were to leave tomorrow,
would you ever remember me?
would you visit my grave -
Is that how you'd remember me?
Or would you turn me
into a poem of yours,
and keep me alive through you?
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