Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Life is a painting,
From the 1980's.
Just as perfect as it could be,
Just a memory.

I hope I never forget,
The memories,
That are you and me.
Another crisp winter day, plain beautiful.
Man 1d
High above the valley
Nestled amongst the trees;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

Shining down from the peaks
In the afterglow of the moon;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

From the bough an echo whispers
Like the song the swallow sings;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

On bright & sunny days
I grieve the hardest then;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

Happy memories
To the dearly departed
Avici 1d
In the dim corners of an archaic repository
Guarded by shadows and subdued mystery
A nerve cracking tale of emotional misery
A chronicle of unspoken, untold history

The brutal lash of a leather belt
The screams, the echoes, the relentless assaults felt
The horrifying scars, the unbearable welt
Withers my soul, seeing a mother being forcibly knelt

The haunting cries beneath the moon’s cold gaze
A child’s fragile heart, encountering frightened days
The tormenting intuition, the intolerable helplessness
Depicting this insensitive world, how time and tide frays

The hypocrite neighbours with malicious intention
Their hollow candour, veiling a double faced complexion
The depraved society, lost in its superficial attention
The child, gasping for emotional care on the ventilators of affection

The backbiting relatives, feeding on unbidden hospitality
Once in a blue moon, do they emerge in adverse practicality
The mother crying her heart out, even in such criticality
Traumatised, by the unforgivingness of such harsh reality

The translucent mask, leading to intensifying mistreat
Ignorance, structuring a highway of unimaginable deceit
Betrayal, the shift, from friendship to cheat
Mental burnout, draining the child to inevitable defeat

Tribulation getting culminated with every dart
Still the mother, protecting her child with a brave heart
Believing that someday, there will be a cheerful start
Today, that kid stands in front of you, portraying this beautiful art
Emma 1d
Beneath the weight of the moment,
fractured seconds linger like echoes,
etched into the hollows of my mind.
Most things dissolve,
consumed by the hungry tides of forgetting,
but not this—
not the way you made me feel.

Small.
Insignificant.
The air stolen from my lungs
as life unraveled, thread by thread.
I lay there,
the world shrinking,
your gaze an avalanche,
your silence a knife.

It wasn’t the darkness that stayed—
it was the sharpness of being
discarded, diminished, erased.

I will not forget.
The universe has ways
of balancing its scales.
And when it does,
may you feel what I felt—
every fragment of it.
only this passing moment matters,
    the past soon outpaces sight,
as life occurs it scatters,
    no lucidity; try as I might.

decisions made without conclusion,
    affecting a lost timeline,
resigned; with no delusion,
    that I could alter this life of mine.
Today feels
Different
And yet
At some point
It will feel
Like
Yesterday
Moving on.
Our first snowfall
two teenagers driving through Maryland’s quiet streets,
snowflakes soft as whispers,
pausing the world, binding us in its stillness.

Years later, Montana welcomed us,
its snow blanketing base housing,
our son’s laughter rising like smoke in the cold.
Soon, we welcomed our daughter,
her presence as gentle as freshly fallen snow,
our family growing beneath the frosted skies.

In New Hampshire, snow wrapped us as four,
a family held close through a winter of unknowns,
its quiet presence a reminder of resilience,
of love weathering every storm.

And now, in Florida—
where the sun reigns and snow should be a stranger,
it falls again.
Five hours of wonder cascading from the heavens,
a gift from the elements,
blessing this home, this moment, this us.

Snow has followed our beginnings—
each new chapter marked in white.
It shields, it cleanses,
a quiet protector cloaked in frost,
a sacred pause to reflect, to remember,
to hold close the warmth of our bond.

May it always find us,
this quiet magic,
this pure renewal,
reminding us that wherever we are,
we are blessed,
we are whole,
and we are home.
This poem is a reflection on the role snow has played in my life and the connection it holds with my husband and our journey together. From the winter of 2007, when two teenagers fell in love on snowy Maryland streets, to our first snowfall as a family in Montana, snow has always found us at the start of something new. Now, 17 years later, in the rare magic of Winter Storm Enzo in 2025, we sit together in the Panhandle of Florida, watching 8 inches of snow blanket our world. It feels like a quiet reminder—of love, resilience, and the way snow has always invited us to pause, reflect, and cherish each other as we write the next chapter of our lives.
If I will it,
Will it?
Mold it into the shape of kisses,
Send it on the Winter wind,
Will whatever it wishes.

Stop in time,
The snowflaked memories of my mind,
Zoom in past the reflection of the sign
That we passed and then doubled back.

Wind up Wind down,
Rise up, Slow up,
Follow the tug,
Follow the pocket square,
Dressed to the nines,
Am proud to be with ya.

Zoom back out,
Push through unshoveled snow
Push through the front door
Push into my arms
Pushed against the wall.

Stop in time,
This moment is perfect,
Nothing could change it,
No way to frame it,
Remember it hard,
Recall every detail:
His smile, his beard, his coattails,
The bits of snow left on his coat still--
because the moment he saw me we were On.

The feel of his coat against my skin,
Breathing in the smell of him,
Then we tasted
Each other so close under the covers
We made it
About each other and for one another
Our bond reached out and shook us
And there was nothing to say when it took us
We both knew
You knew what I knew
We both knew.

Now when I send tiptoe kisses
You feel them.
When you send me your embrace
I feel that too.
I can hear you in my heart and it sings back
Whistles back a callback or two.

We only have time.
We have memories to align
With our presence,
Stamp our mark.

The energy of us
Leaves an imprint
Like ghost tiptoe kisses
And ghost long embraces
Ghost hearing your voice
and the timbre and warmth
Just as present.

I couldn't be happier
Except
If I could will it,
I would will it--
So that we don't have to sustain on
Ghost tiptoe kisses
and ghost long embraces
Anymore.
I miss my person.
Next page