Can we be more than just a&nbsp;&nbsp;produce for this world?
Conjoined to the core so I can claim you mine,
So I can feel more than your flesh and blood,
So I can feel your soul and it's innocence,
With a quill I shall write our sorrows together,
Yet describing the depth of your eyes is all my quill is bound to do,
You colonized my heart with one embrace,
Claiming everything yours,
It was already yours,
But I would rather write than say,
It's all a shattered spectacle can do,
The hum of your heart is rather enticing,
Its coarse yet delicate how surprising,
"You are a whim of my heart" is all I can say
A whim that shall never perish and ruin me away

Petty_poetry___

A whim that shall ruin me

Jun 5, 2026

June 2026

2026

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kenpepiton

Whim is a very good word for many whying things, I wanted to, on a whim.

removed.u685248

I adore your profile so much, BTW my very most adored story-within-a-story in all of literature is "The Fable of the Onion", it's so honest and unpretentious when so many HP profiles are, well, VERY pretentious, lol, and, who knows, maybe mine is? Writing it in the 3rd person I thought was just divine, and the last line made me guffaw, and ACTUALLY guffaw, just one loud half-a-laugh that truly made my Friday evening, just the honesty in it, it was rather disarming, and just how PERFECTLY that fits with your first name!! Thank you, Maimoona, so much!!

And this poem, oh myyy,  I've written and deleted several times giant wall of my word-vomit just gushing and gushing, but too much, it was too unconsumable. I'll say this: I exceedingly rarely come across a writer that is what I consider truly next-level. Your quill etched something onto my heart, and that sounds like comments-section-hyperbole, but I swear to you Maimoona, I absolutely mean it so very sincerely. Even more rarely do I read a poem, and usually only by one of the truly greats of literature, the famous poets, a piece that know with 100% absolute certainty I will never, ever forget until my last breath, and I've just read one of those, And, yes, I'm in an emotionally vulnerable period of my life right now, when things hit me very hard, admittedly.

BUT I *guarantee*, that even if I had never, ever in my life so much as brushed against that bottomless source of joy, and infuriated source of unquenchable yearning we have attached the word "Love" to, this poem, your words, are just so sublime, I've been not crying, but weeping, and I'm embarrassed of admitting that, but I felt you deserved to know that, because they aren't tears of joy, or tear of sorrow, but tears of being so very moved by art, your words would even if in a loveless life, one never having never even come within Love's vicinity, your words would have taught me just exactly what love is by MAKING me feel PRECISELY what you felt when your wrote this.

To me that's the greatest thing art can aspire to, it's what I aspire to in everything I write, and also, your name again, I aspire to pure truth, even if difficult to read, either in my 10 page flow-of-consciousness disasters, or overly crafted things where I beat all the genuine feeling out of them, or that perfect sweet-spot somewhere in between... but I know I never quite get there. I know with 100% certainty, and not a whiff of false-modesty, I've never written anything even near approaching something like this poem, and with equal certainty I know I never, ever will, and that's okay. I love writing nonetheless, and write because I have to anyways, not because I want to. But I am awed, and I am humbled...

There was a time when if I read something like this, and not out of envy, no, I don't think so, but reading something so perfectly executed, just, just sooo perfect, I was torn between luxuriating on every sentence, or wanting to consume, burn it all up in a flash, like a fire, this was just, I can't find good enough words, it was sublime Maimoona, just sublime, I've already used that word, but words are failing me, language is failing me, my own abilities or talents to convey the affect this had on me are failing me, so forgive the repetition, but, yes, there was a time when if I'd stumble upon greatness I'd want to just put my own pen down forever, and that seems so ridiculous to me now, because sharing our minds, hearts, and spirits isn't a competition, is it? And we should celebrate each other's talents, no matter the relative skill-level. 

I'm sorry for being ageist here, but I think of myself at your age, or, heck, I think of myself at MY age of almost 55, and I feel like you're ahead of me on that longest and most important journey of our lives, when we simultaneously set out from our mind and from our heart, and hopefully meet in the perfect spot of balance in between the two, the wisdom, wit, and so much else revealed in your words, the heights and depths of love, the double-edged blade of love, and like I wrote, even if I hadn't ever so much as brushed my lips against the lips of Love, well, I'd know what love is after reading this nonetheless. I'm sure I understood just what love felt like already as a youngster way before I ever experienced it, reading Rumi, Neruda, Gibran, Yeats, Barrett-Browning, Wordsworth, just my favourites, everyone has their own, but this poem is THAT level of, and I hesitate to use the word quality, instead I'll write "greatness", and TRUST ME, I am NOT one to throw flattery around, or write or say anything disingenuous... 

I'm only human, I have, of course, been disingenuous many times in the past, but I always sorely regret it, even if it feels like a mercy to someone at the time, so I really avoid it, especially as I've gotten older and more experienced in life. I sorely hope that you don't think my words are overblown, or disingenuous, because I couldn't possibly be more sincere, and I searched my heart before embarking upon this gushing comment, but hopefully not so much so that it's off-putting, comment; I asked, Jason, are you sure this isn't just because of recent events since April, but no, no no no no, you are *exceptional*, and I feel like I can say that without fear of you getting a swelled head, I'm sure you know you're exceptional, but your humility bleeds through the digital pages, in this poem, in your profile, so I have no doubt that I'm not telling you anything that you don't already know, but I feel obliged to tell you nonetheless. 

I'm just that that moved by your words, and how, at least that I found, intended or not, this poem can be read on three entirely separate levels, and if that wasn't intended, all the better, another great aspect of art, in the beholder's eye and all that. And trust me, though I know I'm no great poet, and I'm totally okay with that fact, but I am a truly great lover of poetry, and I recognize true greatness, and in all my years here (this is my fourth account after swearing poetry altogether, but always back, the purest of my many addictions, haha), with no derision meant at all towards anyone else, but I can count on one hand the number of truly great poets I've be blessed to come across over the years at HP, or WritersCafe, or where I started, a humble little nook called The Starlite Cafe, and you are one of them.

I usually would never make such a bold statement, never write or talk in superlatives, before giving something time to settle, and this just RANDOMLY the FIRST poem of yours yet, and you don't have too many so far, and I'm super excited by that, I can read your entire back catalogue, and don't worry, I won't write long meandering comments on others, or, I'll try not to, ahhh, this is sooo long AGAIN, but I'm not going to delete and try to start again, this comment is as long as it wants to I suppose because it's skipping over my brain and right from my heart, but I can be your fan and read everything you write, and that... I need something right now in my life life that, I NEED something to look forward to, and you're now a piece of that puzzle; how to I give a proper thank you to a gift of that magnitude?

I'm so very glad you liked one of my scribbles today, so that I came to give you a sore of courtesy read and reply on one of yours, and what a true treasure was awaiting me. I'm sorry if any of my words here are embarrassing to you, I know I'm gushing and gushing, I know it! But I can't help myself! Right on poet, write on.