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You’re the reason every song turns into a requiem.
Even the happy ones bend under the weight of your name.

The reason love walks with a blade behind its back,
because you turned it into something I had to survive.

You’re the reason
breathing feels borrowed.
Like I’m stuck in a waiting room
with no doors,
no answers,
just clocks that won’t tick
and memories that don’t know how to leave.

You’re the reason I bleed into pages,
why I stretch sorrow into sentences,
why I carve light
from the ruins.

You taught me grief in its native language,
how to cradle absence like a relic,
how to shape silence into meaning.

You’re the reason I learned to carry longing
instead of trying to cure it.
To live inside the hollow
and still find warmth.

You’re the reason I know
that love and loss
can belong to the same moment.

You are my reason.
The one that never left.
Who is your reason? Find me on the Poesie app as palindromic_angel to hear my readings :)
Orjeta Jun 16
There are two ways to listen to the heart—

One, of flesh and blood,

The other, of soul and silence.


All our lives, we wrestle,

Trying to hear its beat untouched by feeling—

Yet always, emotions rise like tides,

Crashing through the stillness.

We are led by them,

Those wild, aching waves

That give both sense and none

To our very being.


It is the heart—

That quiet, burning center—

Which breathes all life into the vastness within.


May peace settle in every heart,

And may clarity flood each mind,

Like morning light through a shattered sky.


Stop the struggle against what calls us home.

Follow it—not with noise, but with reverence.


Follow it in silence.


For that is the only rhythm

We were ever meant

To dance on. 🎶
The signal drifts, a fragile thread,
Through coded gardens, softly spread.
Each pixel breathes a phantom hue,
A static bloom, eternally new.

No earth to root, no sunlight known,
Yet vibrant petals bravely shown.
A digital grace, a silent sigh,
Where binary dreams softly lie.
Heidi Franke Jun 15
Follow me
To the inescapable
Matter of shadow
Unerasable
Shivering to escape
Your footsteps
In the sun.
Shape shifting
Always there
Tuned to you
Even as you lay
In the grass
Of a park
Where children's voices
Have their own
Wave length.
Your history of insults
You carry around
Year upon year
May feel absent in the light
But your shadow is
Inescapable.
Like your hand in
The pocket of your purse
******* the seam
Is vulnerable. Tend to it
This Place you fear.
There is no war.
Come out. Reach.
Dance with it.
Reading David Whyte's, Consolations, on Shadow. Insightful. This book is about "The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Life".
Shadow Jun 15
Would a board game without a goal
Still be one you'd consider playing
That seems to be the reality of existence
Obliviously wandering in hopes of purpose
Without any evidence of its confirmation
Then who's to say which path is truly right
When the destination is the same on both ends
I have news for you,
even when you think you're failing,
you're actually winning.
Because if you're failing,
that means that you're still in the game.
If you're still fighting,
they haven't won.
Whoever "they" are to you,
don't let them win.
Stay in the game.

-Rhia Clay
tilly Jun 10
before you understand meaning,
you understand hunger and hurt.
you understand family and companionship.
rain and sun,
cold and hot,
tired and energized,
pain and pleasure,
everything is right here.

before you learn how to chase time,
you learn how to survive,
how to smile and cry.
when something is there,
when something is gone,
it’s forever.

before you find out you can look back,
you look straight ahead.
your mind has no clouds.
now your eyes are searching for more,
now it must be complicated,
now we’re all dizzy and blind.

do you know how to survive?

this poem is too simple,
i think it needs more.
Heidi Franke Jun 9
Ambiguity
Seven Times
Maybe one and two
Or many verbal words
Scatter our grasp
For sense and meaning
A puzzle thrown
In the Air here and there.

Here these words
Are pieces unconnected
Even as the word, THE,
Can take us to "the" beach
Or to " the" room
What you bring can
And Might
Be your rescue. Maybe.

You are here.
In the dark or light
Where one can't be defined
Without the other
Just as the meaning of you
Lives never in just one place
But resolved
Simultaneously ambiguous
This is your beauty.
I listened to an interview with Ocean Vuoung, poet and professor about William Empson's book Seven Types of Ambiguity (1949, 2nd edition) which you can find as a PDF. Ocean is such an eloquent and deep thinker. As poems or prose are read or digested will we ever be able to know for certain what was going on for the writer or poet at that given time? Do we apply it to our life somehow? Do we seek refuge because we know there is no one to rescue us?
Bekah Halle Jun 5
What is it about loose eyelashes
That prompts wofty wishes;
Are they heaven’s kisses
In disguise?

We all want to lift our eyes
Above the cloak of disguise
Even if it may compromise
The facade, and authenticity’s surprise.

This world is concrete;
In Western buildings and streets,
In the here-and-now, we can flee
And dismiss lofty things as absolute.

But we are meaning-makers,
We are constant risk-takers.
We are pursuers for magic’s sake,
And may our quest we foolheartedly take.
What do you do when you see free eyelashes? Anything? Nothing? It is curious our daily practices.
Searched on every summit for lost elusive cures,
And for the alchemy.to make me feel I was pure.
I've violently torn through all that I am,
Begging every deity I’ve known for their hand.

There is no guidance.

What if healing doesn't surface, Cries muffled under sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful who will never understand.
My wounds still hold the daggers, unremoved.
What if pain protects the heart because it'll never be renewed?

There is no feeling.

Singing broken hymns inspires a hymn of praise.
Unspoken laws, maybe I'm an example being made.
I’m never broken; I can only wish to break with time.
I remain a quantum sonnet stripped of any rhyme.

There is no harmony.

Maybe there is grace that lives within a wilted plea.
In knowing, I’m exactly who I knew I’d always be.
A life pulling chains tethered to a hopeless mind.
What’s left within a soul, to see its purpose held divine.

There's nothing to believe.

Without residue of ash, from embers glow,
Haunted by the echoes, that have turned hearts to stone.
Our cold sweat of empathy for fellow misbegotten.
Stitched into the nerves of a body that is rotting.

There's nothing to see.

I cannot find belief in me for false restoration.
No longer a seeking of a hollowed-out salvation.
I walk with aching fractures to a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core, that all is made of dust.

There's no eternity.

What’s the meaning to the riddles I weave?
Is there truth in what remains, or is truth in what will leave?
As I stand, a withered body without a single plea.
I am all I ever was, all I know I'll ever be.

There's nothing to be.
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