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Sitting in silence,
As the hourglass spills its golden grains,
Etching quiet warnings upon the souls in denial
A whisper that time is no eternal friend.

A choice still lingers,
Unmade, like a shadow at dusk
While silver threads replace youthful strands.
Age has no doorway to escape through, and the sand does little to muffle the ache that resurfaces with each turning of the glass.

To look back is to face the wreckage,
To rebuild from embers we once chose to ignore.
But fear looms
Fear that old chains will return
Forged now in guilt, fear, and empathy
Elements far heavier than iron,
Stripping away the illusion of freedom.

A battle brews between vital organs
The heart pleads for what’s right,
The mind demands what’s wise.
Yet the line that once divided them
Fades like breath on glass,
Too blurred to tell apart.

How long can indecision linger
Before the choice is taken
From hands still warm with life?
This poem is a rather personal one for me. It's the consequences of being a SA victim and losing a entire family due to years of being silent and pretending that everything is fine just to keep branches on the family tree attached. But the place that was once called home was always looked at as a prison. The poem is about making the decision to go back into a life of isolated feelings and self destructive to have a family, or to stay free while the mind and the heart fight to tell you to make the right/smart decision
When it seems as though
The human coil is unravelling
And we have peaked
Our REM of creativity
And we seem awash
In half-baked positive negativity
And the whole world seems
To be drowning in self-induced sleep
While even the watchers
Seem to have both eyes closed...

Turn this thing around
And open bloodshot eyes.
Stop your own unravelling
And delve deeper into creativity.
Strengthen the bonds of your own
Exclusive and non-exclusive spheres.
Allow your peaceful world to dawn
Even though the outside world drowns
In its own exclusive and non-exclusive pool of fears.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker
Lance Remir Jun 12
The voices that I used to hate

That berated me, hated me

Filled me with doubt and fears

Depressing, anxious tones

A chorus made of a broken soul

At least those voices of mine

Tell me that they love me still

After what you've left me as
silvervi May 13
Motivating myself
No matter what

We all have fears
These fears are sending thoughts to us.
These thoughts are nothing but bad mirages.
These thoughts feel real but look around
Is any of it here now? No.
Most of the times,
These have started out of one reason
THE ILLUSION OF FEAR.
Fear has a core from which it sends all kinds of thoughts. Recognizing this may help to let go of the fear or at least to decrease its intensity.
The ear bends to sound–
as does the ground, to the man
in the weeds; tangled by their doubts.
Wet eyes, as the sea; stained cheeks
I follow an emptiness with the fullness
of hope; to the bending sounds of knees

click, click!

My body starts to feel like wet pavement –
a couple slip ups, for the mind to easily recall
Anxious slow breaths, exhaling and inhaling
I cry out, “I don’t want to do this life anymore”

Taking a moment to clear out that sound,
bending backwards; but why for them, at all
These inner voices, are all so FREAKING loud  

Wait no, my insecure self, is just talking to itself.
Maria Apr 18
Mum, my sweetheart, I’m tired.
Do you believe or not?

It’s like my legs are broken under
Or maybe they’re gone for short.

My head is being torn apart
By different odd thoughts.

And I can’t, I can't stop thinking.
Fears are around. More mots.

I ***** up my eyes firmly.
I instantly stop my ears.

And I’m silent again, silent again
As if there’re no dread and fears.

Mum, my sweetheart, I’m tired!
I don’t want being afraid to live!

I’m so tired mum! I’m really tired!
There’re too much atrocities.
It’s true, not a myth.

Just little bells,
Ding-****, ding-****,
Are chirping sweet sounds.
How nice is their song.

There’s not a bit truth
In that saccharine ‘re-fa-la’.
But there won't be nothing else.
We can’t live without lie.
Thank you very much for reading this poem! It's particularly personal, inside out, painful... 🙏
izzmidnight Mar 11
I used to wake up and just watch you breathe,
I'd see your face and smile; we were in love.
It hurt me in a way that I would seethe
Every time I saw you and I've become
A monster who covers all of their scars,
A beast who twists your words so that they hurt,
A freak who thinks we're written in the stars,
When you say I'm beautiful, I avert

Because I'm scared of what I do not know,
Don't know if I can be happy at all,
But maybe life will live and let me grow,
But I'm scared that I'll only ever fall.
So when you leave I'll rip myself to shreds,
But things beyond repair may yet still mend.
This is my first try at a sonnet. I hope I did well. I appreciate feedback and comments! :)
Steve Page Mar 6
The sun sank down at dawn
The finch returned to its nest
The crocus postponed all plans
And peace went back to her bed

The light might come tomorrow
The birds may return in song
The flowers can rise in the new Spring
And there's hope to be had erelong
Mixed feelings from watching the news.  Added the second stanza  a couple of days later. Theres always hope.
Daniel Tucker Jan 2017
When it seems as though
The human coil is unravelling
And we have peaked
Our REM of creativity
And we seem awash
In half-baked positive negativity
And the whole world seems
To be drowning in self-induced sleep
While even the watchers
Seem to have both eyes closed...

Turn this thing around
And open bloodshot eyes.
Stop your own unravelling
And delve deeper into creativity.
Strengthen the bonds
Of your own exclusive and non-exclusive spheres.
Allow your peaceful world to dawn
Even though the outside world drowns
In its own exclusive and non-exclusive pool of fears.
© 2017 Daniel I. Tucker

Salvaging and maintaining what we can in devastating storms of life, and to never stop growing and caring or trying to care for others who are in their own little worlds.

REM (rapid eye movement):
The phase of sleep in which most dreams occur. During rapid eye movement sleep, a person's brain activity, breathing, heart rate, and blood pressure increase, and the eyes move rapidly while closed.
Used as a metaphor in this poem.

"Watchers" in this poem does not refer to angels as in the biblical context. "watchers" generally refers to individuals who actively monitor or observe something, often with the intent to protect, detect changes, or report on specific activities.
Broken Pieces Feb 24
C
C is my first LOVE
The love that never leaves you
The person that you look for
In other people

C is the one that got away
The one that I ****** up
I ended things
Out of my own fear

C came back
And I’m so afraid
it’s gonna end again
With me running away

C is my love
But I don’t want
To mess things up
How do I do this
When my whole life
I’ve ran from love?
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