+Asked from a butterfly: "how was the trip?"
-Responded with a regretful sigh:
" the roughest part was not knowing what's going to happen after cocoon!"

Time is ticking, and I try.
Try to do something...
Maybe the way is the other way!
Letting go, clearing the way.
Letting things happen naturally.
Like a flower blooming in the sidewalk opening it's way.
Not out of forcing, only because the bed is rich enough...

Youth—epitome of experience and extremes.
You fall, you seek, you cry, you scream.
You slow down, begin to see the seams—
A vast world quietly opens to you.
You notice the meaning behind the semblance,
And the silence that slowly leaks through.

You finally get the answers you long pursued:
For frustration’s weight, for storms you never understood—
The unexplainable quarrels, the anxious moods.
And at last, you reach the solace you once dreamed.

But—
It’s not the end. It’s not the cure.
This is nowhere close to all your angst, your ache.
“To live is to suffer”—a belief we often mistake.
To live is, was, and always will be to seek—
To validate the silence buried deep beneath.

To let go of the nagging thoughts,
The voice that creeps, claws, and speaks.
Only the brave can release that grip.
It was never meant to be easy—
That’s why it clings,
But trust the process.
You’ll hear the silence—full and complete.

Once you’ve let go of that voice,
That essence of shadow,
No more doubt, no more need to borrow—
You’ll find the peace you sought
Beneath the drought of noise
That once left you hollow.

Yes, I know your agony, your sorrows.
But brave warrior, you’ve found it at last—
The real you,
Untainted.
Unburdened.
Unbound.
                                                          -Asher Graves

Before I even decided to run,
I was already caught up with waking up early.
Body laid close to the pillows that I get drowned by all the time.
Clothes unprepared, shoes not in sight,
Mind still asleep, eyes glued to be closed tight.

We will never be ready for something unless we give it a try.
We can never really decide immediately without considering it.
Why? Are we scared that it might not be in our lane of comfort?
Such a funny thing to say. But aren't we all scared? Aren't we all not ready for anything?
But by faith, we believe that it’s better tried than left ignored.

Like words left written but never sent.
Shouldn't we be more daring because we've already lost a lot due to fear and uncertainty?
As if this world isn’t full of uncertainties.
We are built to embrace, to live, not to dismiss—
Cause what is there to live if we keep dismissing the life we are destined to?

i was lost,
battered,
bruised—

lost in
a cyclical
spiral,

a downfall
i told myself

i wouldn’t go
through again.

life was on
autopilot,

and i did
all i can

to weather
this storm.

i was struggling
to see the other
side,

then you
came in
my life,

picked up
the pieces,
and

helped
a broken heart

mend and
repair,

so i could
cross over

and finally
see the light.

because of
you,

i believe
in love again.

because of you,

i’m learning
to be a better
person,

so i can
fight for another
day,

just so i

can be with you
for the rest
of my life.

i once was
lost in myself,
but now i’m home.

life is better
when i spend
every waking

moment with
you.

I got ways to go, believe me,
The coldest ever—anaemic.
Stripping down the vices,
And by that, I mean me, myself, and I, *****.
The lord, call me your highness,
But don’t confuse me for the kindest.
Taking a stand isn’t the vilest—
Approach just like the golden touch, the Midas.

Reprimanding the bezoar,
Leavin’ all the poison behind us.
Close your eyes if you don’t want 'em to find us!
The God? I’m not Osiris.
I lack the means to guide us.
The path of the finest—
A fantasy, only to remind us
Of all the fallacies I sold to the crownless.
But what of the fellow deceased?
I mean the fellow seized!
The dreams of the unguarded,
The sin that we started,
To get us rewarded.
I killed the Open-Hearted,
Now dearly departed.

You reap what you sow—
Left me deep in the snow.
I peeked through the hole,
But there’s only me, the sole.
I staged a show,
To feel a little more,
But I never opened the door.

Now I see you no more.
You were sweet, a little slow—
Deserved love so much more.
But I lacked the gall,
And you took the fall.
I was built to protect you,
But you never left that little door.
Smiled a little more,
Should’ve hugged you some more.
Now echoes of silence haunt the floor.
You’re gone, and I see you no more.

I am to blame for this nuisance,
I am to blame for this rapture—
If only I didn’t fail to capture.

If I tripped, you too tripped—
Brother, we were trippin’.
I took a hit, felt sick, should’ve listened.
Where’s my foresight? My vision?
Where’s my f**kin’ intuition?
To hell with my indecision—
Blinded by pride, deaf to collisions.
Never cared so much for religion.
But you were the dawn of this coalition.

Fruitful conviction,
So much to offer, a pondering decision.

Rage consumed me; I created diversion.
Hateful I got for not understanding your assertion.
You had the gusto, a remarkable vision—
But I doubted and embarked on evasion.
Cursed at my frustration,
But no one was there to listen.
I carried the mission,
Prying open wounds to find division.

But I didn’t see my mistake.
Argued and raged, thinking I’d escape.
I broke, woke—but still bore the same face.
Tried to retaliate,
But it was too late to recalibrate.
I over-narrate, couldn’t hesitate.
Thought anger was relief, never did validate.
So much arrogance I failed to navigate.

Kinda felt like Medusa—
A head (ahead) of snakes, my own accuser.
                                                                        -Asher Graves

Growing old never seemed so bad.  
Sure, I pretend to moan and dread,  
My knee buckles and my back knots.  
Yet it’s another year of being alive.  

Growing old is a privilege,  
As another year around the sun  
Marks another year of growth.  
What else are we here for?  

Growing old is a privilege,  
Growing old together is a luxury.  

Growing old never seemed so bad.  
Yet I mourn the years we’ve lost to fate.  
Like a new book too precious to read—  
Too scared to see how many chapters are left.  

But books are never judged by their length,  
It’s by the way they change you.  
The way they mark themselves into you,  
Like wrinkles on skin.  

So worry not, take your time with fate.  
I’ll pull up a chair, a good book and coffee.  
And when you arrive, I’ll have a library—  
Of stories to share, wishing you had been there.