“Veins of Mist”
by arqios

The hills exhale in threads— pale veins of mist
                            tracing the pulse of morning.
Beneath the hush, stones remember the weight
                    of footsteps that never returned.
A crow calls once, and silence folds a cloak around it.
The sky does not answer. It only listens
             with the patience of old gods.

"Archive Soul”
  
An archive opens:  
folder titles like breaths you forgot.  

Inside, your silhouette fractalised—  
flesh parsed into metadata.  

Memory = 84% accurate.  
Love = untagged.






.

On the ridge where borders kiss,
a lion learned the wolf’s quick heart,
a wolf learned the lion’s long breath.

They tied a city to their quarrel,
stitched an altar through a throne,
and walked the same ascent until
the feud forgot its name.

Brother, said the friend,
and the stones remembered.

Light
A single spark
arcs
in the hush of thought,
braiding
hope into the dark.

Residue
Grey ash settles
on pages never finished,
charred
margins tracing first desires.

Memory
From cinders
of yesterday’s fervour
rise soft echoes
of half-formed melodies.

Message
We shape our breath
into tethered words,
casting lantern-bright
into another’s night.

Light
That echo returns,
igniting fresh wonder—
the spark leaps on.







.

cold in my chest where charcuterie burned
pages of lifelines now crackle and moan
prayers for a future never returned
and silence within, the loudest I’ve known

The Orchard’s Lament  
Morning mist drapes each blossom  
like a bride reluctant to wake.  
Petals fall in silent confession—  
memory’s hush in every drift.  

Roots hold secrets of laughter and tears,  
a debt of seasons owed to shadows.  
Soon, steel will bite bark and bloom  
and these ghosts will scatter on the wind.  




.

Donut Disturb


Do not knock until I’ve iced my mood,
glazed in sugar’s gentle trance.
Each hole a hollow plea for peace—
sprinkles shielding sleepy thoughts.
Ring me only when calories don’t matter.

“a clockwork orangerie”

gears click  
in humid glass  

copper vines coil  
around brass struts  

oranges glint  
like captive suns  
hinged to silver branches  

steam drifts—  
a hiss-purr among pistons  
petals unfurl  
to the pulse of time  

shadowed aisles  
radial rods pumping  
light into crystalline blooms  

one dimpled fruit  
slips free  
into a glass basin  
and rings  
into silence.






.

"The Impossible Turn"



To hold what harms, to face without flinching,
                                      to shape warmth from wire.
To drop the name, to meet the eyes, to let edges soften.
To burn the mould, to kneel in ash, to rise listening.
Not conquest. Not perfection. Only forward motion.





.
© Now, Frederick Kesner

Beauty isn’t verdict.
            It moves—
     slow, sudden.

One eye sees chorus.
      One hears a bell.

We met in the middle.
      Called it human.

          No greetings.
      No apologies.

Just the sentence,
already burning.

Silence held the shape.
        We stepped in.





.

"unspoken storms"

Still waters conceal unspoken storms,  
Not from apathy, but a need for calm.  
Eyes don’t always radiate cries within—  

Some truths resist the need to begin.  
Let them talk, assume, decide—  
In silence, whole galaxies reside.

a poem collapses language into feeling.
connection isn’t absent—it’s shattered.
grief lives in the space where meaning fails.

Love, once central, now spirals—
fragmented, ******, falling inward.
It doesn’t speak. It disintegrates.

ghosted in comment box  
    where goodbyes decay, unread  
                I draft silence now—  
  syntax can't cradle absence  
nor data warm the soul