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Tears flow
Tricky tears they know
They know, they have it their way
They know how to trickle down
They flow

They flow ceaselessly,
Unsightly, unexplained,
at the slightest of pain
Discomfort their name

They lie hidden in the depths
In times of despair
To your rescue, unperturbed
They surface Unrushed

They can be trained
To Master the art of deceit
Shrouded in lies
A weapon, honed with might
Held in disguise
In their master’s eyes

They stand as  warriors
For emotions left unsaid
A paradoxical deluge
No ocean can hold
An unstoppable wave
Tears of joy

Tricky tears they know
They know, they have it their way
They know how to trickle down
They flow
Raking leaves--walnut, maple, mulberry, ailanthus--
I saw how it was.

My dog Molly--sweet, skittish, a rescue--
knew the Aussie was the favorite.

She hid his favorite toy in a pile of leaves,
but not well enough--I saved it.

When we were finished, all the leaves at the curb,
the toy was gone, second time the wicked charm.

When you lose something--you lose the place you were
when you first saw it, who you were with, what you were doing.

Fragile things can fall and shatter and when you see them broken
your heart can break a little too--and there's nothing you can do.

I am thinking about broken things, lost things, hidden things.
The leaves have fallen, grown again, fallen again.

My Aussie is gone and the pure clear blue of September sky,
the lofted toy, and Molly too, have all passed.

Today I sit outside, careful with the mug on the chair arm,
even knowing that everything--and I as well--will fall in time.
2025
The creeping hand of death curtails

Your control

Looking for it's opportunity

To strike

The fragile line between light

And dark
Today's times,
are a spiritual person's reminder,
that without suffering,
there is no growth in Wisdom.
2025-08-30 - A muse on Wisdom.
 1d Cné
F Elliott

It was not the beast alone
that hollowed the soul,
but the silence
that made a chamber for it.

The silence of fathers
who looked away.
The silence of mothers
who smoothed the tablecloth
and spoke of other things.
The silence of friends
who chose comfort
over confrontation.

Every unspoken word
became a shroud.
Every careful pause
became a nail.
Every smile that denied
became another grave.

The beast feasted,
not only on wounds inflicted,
but on truths unspoken,
on the complicity
of quiet mouths.

And so silence
killed more surely than rage,
for rage at least
named what was broken,

but silence gave it a home.

The deadliest weapon
that lays in the hands
    of Death  itself
    is not the sword;

but the silence sharpened
     against the soul.



What destroys us most often is not what is done, but what is left unsaid. Families, friends, communities.. complicity thrives in silence. Every unspoken truth becomes a stone, every quiet denial a grave. This piece speaks to the deadliest accomplice of the beast: not hatred, but silence.

And yet, even within silence, the cry still trembles. It leaks through scars, through hidden eyes, through the fragile flame that refuses to die.
These words are for every soul who has lived inside that chamber, unseen but not alone.
Plumb gives voice to that cry.

What if the “cut” is not a blade at all, but truth itself--
naming the wound, naming the perpetrator,
breaking the silence that becomes a second trauma
worse than the first?
Sharp though it is, such a cut
can become the only one that heals--
the deepest relief of all...


"Cut"

I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore

A fragile flame aged
With misery
And when our eyes meet
I know you see

I may seem crazy
Or painfully shy
And these scars
wouldn't be so hidden
If you would just
look me in the eye

I feel alone here and cold here
Though I don't want to die
But the only anesthetic that
makes me feel anything kills inside

I do not want to be afraid
I do not want to die inside
  just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb

Relief exists,   I find it when

    I am cut

https://youtu.be/OJkqkWIpFAI?si=hMaAlmoUB_OnEoOG


Better the wound of truth than the grave of silence;

To those who have carried the weight of numbness,
Plumb’s voice  becomes
their own cry of solidarity

xoxo
 1d Cné
Addison
yes I did it
I messaged him
I can tell
he's mad at me
I'm not upset that he hates me
I'm upset I ruined it
a friendship that could've lasted
I mourn our full conversations
and our inside jokes
I mourn the loss of what could have lasted longer than it did
I fear I look for him in every person I meet
hoping to find someone like him
but its useless
there will never be another
just like him
 1d Cné
nivek
where do all the stolen smiles go?
are they gone forever?
or are they fighting for freedom
from persecution.
 1d Cné
Birdie
Like the blood blister on my thumb
I’m marked by you
Injured from the friction of trying too hard
Over and over again
To light you up and inhale you
My boy of smoke
Lingering always but never tangible
Weave yourself into my hair
Sit in my lungs
Stain my lips and
Keep me
Love me
Breathe me
Bite me
i got a note in my locker,
from my ex
he's obsessed with me,
but not in the way i want
he thinks that i'm still his,
but i've found someone new
he kept trying to talk to me
but i've made my point clear
i've moved on
and i'm not thinking of him at all
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