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I wonder,
I ponder,
The path I need to take.

I march my way in grassy fields,
To see what I can make.

I trod here,
Trod there,
I trod to find my stake.

For each path hurts its own,
Each path has its wake.

I hike thee,
I climb free,
A mountain I should quake.

The paths are getting harder now,
I tremble and I break.

A wall here,
A crack here?
I must find flaws I forsake.

Each wall built that blocks my path,
Brick by brick I take.

Now a bend,
Sweet end,
The last is not fake.

My journey had gone coming quick,
It is final, my sake.
A journey each takes.
Sam S Apr 4
Choose places where your spirit feels seen,
where smiles rise before you speak,
and silence isn’t heavy with judgment.
That’s where your soul rests.

Take the longer road.
The one with curves,
pauses,
moments of stillness.
It teaches more.
It lasts longer.

One summit is only a step
toward the next.
Keep walking.
Keep wondering.
The journey never ends…
and that’s the beauty of it.

If the path ahead is unclear,
don’t turn back.
Some of the best things
can’t be seen from the start.
Surprise lives there.
So does growth.

Be mindful of your garden.
Your peace is soil.
Don’t let chaos plant roots
where calm is trying to grow.

Joy is not found in the finish.
It grows in the in-between,
in footsteps without applause,
in becoming without needing to be seen.
Sanama Mar 25
Our bonds were strong, yet different in their ways,
Each path you walked, I followed, lost in haze,
Like a fool who loves what can’t be held or won,
Chasing what was never meant to come.

On a rainy day, I knew what would unfold—
Rejection, cold, a truth I couldn't hold,
Yet in that sorrow, the tears found their grace,
Joining the rain, as it fell on my face.

Vox silens, I whisper in the mist, it was just
A silent voice, a truth that can’t be kissed.
Like the hills of old, with tales untold,
My heart lies buried in the damp, the cold.
A quiet pain of unrequited love, I used a bit of Latin in my poem and a metaphor. I won't say much for finding it on your own is the best way to understand.
owls at dawn Mar 24
there is much to accomplish in the desert between oases
Ken Pepiton Mar 10
Belief and unbelief
credit and discredit

any child woe hoh-eee

who made the world believe,

whose will is logic in reality we agree,

realizing aggressors

aggress one more step,
approach propinquity

character Mammon weform re

always wishing we knew, real ways

life takes from finished stars, I was told,

wisdom given me was with truth held

in ideas like pi and phi and mindspeed

extracted in living ways,
by inquisitive catechism cavities,

did fluoride work? Did I get old?

I got a lotta shots to be a soldier,
I got scorpion stung and know guys,

they ranch rattle snakes, those guys,
they took polaroids,

prolly all faded, but we seen 'em all us/

we uns tuning in from til 12th of never

platters, record skip stuck, stop it never

o o o no nonono,
u do no gnowing now how much

it costs somebody for me to live,

but, as all truth seeking philosophers

agree in the spirit
of Tesla's antennae tester's kids…

dedication, emotion, attach, we
all know life is dull if you never

have time
to finish thinking one thing
about how
to brake
at high eliptical orbit,

did you see that little blur,
look close spaceplane earth image

moment
in time, once, really

but you need
to know gravity,
and chaos and time, elementally

we think it all is dancing, happening

to be knowable because behaviors,

we mostly
all have mastered,
if we are reading this
on Earth, adapting

… if pride is the problem,
look at Earth from far away

then turn around and see what we see.

It should normalize that VOG,

--- amusing thuds icebergs
blown sky high come down
to become those still ponds

aero error unthunk thud thus
brake Power wowser
hoh-eee'

there was a double feature
Joseph Süß Oppenheimer,

not the bomb guy, three centuries
previous use
of political mindspheres metaphoring
In the meantime, Süß discovers he is the illegitimate son
of a respected nobleman, but decides
to continue living as a Jew, as he is proud
of having achieved such a position despite this.

Proud handicap, all I have sir,
it is funny, but I know,
wanna bet,

One Love, Mr. Marley,
show the skulls somebodyscrunching,

oh, death, don't linger
take me swiftly in just one breath…

well then, certain as any reliving after
exposure to a standard acheivement proof of work

I am not a robot, I operate qwerty guy,
we work hand in hand, each side accustomed

to these words and apps that let us get old school
El Ron Hubbard from the boomer cupboard,

Life or Look in or around October, 1969
parts of this are old thoughts rethought and edited,

Not palimpsests, those are a pain,
not as bad as charcoal scrolls, though, so

what's new for old stores of information?

Did we learn who redacted Daniel?

Or who had Kennedy killed and caught
all the witnesses, oh, the weight of a place,

honest to god hill billy heaven, you'd be
with the Hawks at Jack Ruby's club,
related
onyermommaside, see, so when you know,
relatively suddenly,
it's all show,
that's business, we're learning
though, through
some old ways wisdom proves peace,
made up in a mind, worth
what ever peace making buys these days,
what ever pretense for war we leave be gone,

this is ever
appearing as today brought to you by

Natural occurences, alpha thought, the first letter

is e. dot. e as in mcsquared, a kinda winding all the way
around once, at a snails pace, kinda wondering the way

spirals got on those rocks back when stories lived
in precious good to know a little bit of the big parade,

a proper triumph,
as an idea, such are as rare as detectable Earths.

you cannot hold the whole truth you think you know,

like, of course,

while
in the course,
of human events,

human earthdust structure underlying vulcanism,
eons non timed merely making hydrogen
leib-ecombomb
oh helio centric we think,

gravity wise, it's all chaos, until, limit preposed

crystaline salt at its lifeless grandest, supposed

organized minds, informing seekers

to take it easy, thinking nothing
on the radio spectrum bumps

photons meandering
through optic fiber strands,

to land and assume you're
with me… wanna back track?

There's a movie
about this guy,
in my moment ago, who

knew so many things change,
with a little radiant energy

used
to think so many things,
with Turing Mental Machines

and time
and Von Neuman's longest
spiraling general truth
self replicating

across all actual paradigms projected,

into theaters that were palaces,
when they turned
on the lights,

to sweep trash strewn
by litter bugs,

and I was one, and I was many characters,

from the dramas that normalize us, or used
to
properly tuned, that pure note, you, in awe.

In the desert,
in the night, not
on TV, but went and did that,

by myself…

and only I saw, so these memories,

these are made up, you see,

some jokes, beau geste la joconde

madjalook, mused, not guiled, not guiledly
slight smile deep breath

twice. If it is fun
to make fun, why does it hurt?

Where does that hurt,

did I stomp your TOE?

I was kinda hoping, ai'n'all, truth trials

redeemed time, thinking Bic speed,
candle light, setting, one pocketbook

paperback writer beat it ****** hoh-ee

woe is we who watched it all fade away,

laughing at the worth
of living, winning,

like,
a year and counting

after three focused bolts of lightning

while we were honest
to god flying,
while dying, honest, helicopter
came and got me
and I did not

stay dead, they jolted me into

right now.

Whenever I think about the odds of this
or that… you never know all things, this

way, at truepuregnosishit preparation,

- wait, what if… interuption erupts,
- a laughing sigh, nnnand gate do-overy coo

harmless Feynman joke three gates back

hoh-ee means woe,
in the KJV, so we know.
repetition, proverbs lead somewhere.
Not magic, iusta thinking, instance deja vued
he ja way per se
a bit, snippet, voices in the hall, children and grandma

all watching fourteen seasons of NCIS, and,

that's this today here, spring forwarded, and

thinking this happens
at breathe-ing speeds, I love it

drifting, practice dementia, musing, practicing harmonica

alone,
on a hill, breathe-ing
with a mossy granite wall time speckled beside me,

I can imagine we all did it just

this once

just this.

Fair trade rabbit hole, hooks
Dodgson, dominated Disneyified

first seen through the smoke
from the loge for smokers,
in front of the projector,

you've seen the scenes, cartoons
in the smoke
on its way

almost any way
that's beautiful.

Look at me,
a bit or a tad too high, pleasantly

aware we were reaching past
last
grasp

stretching to think lively.
Suddenly it's published, weighted,
value fair trade for a preposition that works? Til, until same as upto. Stop
and feel the first reader count... ai know, patient agent practice, wait.
Kaiden Mar 4
Following the path
Written ahead
Not realizing
It's all in my head.
Imaginary world anyone?
silvervi Mar 2
The path is within.
No need to change everything around us or chase anything. Look inside yourself first.
ALI Feb 28
I orbit like a planet banished from its path,
carrying cosmic dust in my pockets and the world’s secrets dangling like dead stars.
I did not know who I was… but they knew I read the screams of the nebula.
I know everything… yet I do not know when I was born, or why moons shatter when I breathe!

I am the forgotten library that holds the end of all books.
My pages fall like meteors, each leaf crying out:
“Who will rearrange the idea before it collapses into a black hole?”
I carried the names of infinities on a school trip,
and when asked about myself, I gasped for a lost answer trapped between my ribs.

I speak the language of the impossible,
translate the silence of stars into trembling rays,
hear the dialogues of power and annihilation at a table of tangled timelines.
They say, “He knows the hour of mountains’ collapse before they crumble!”
But I cannot stop a tear as it falls from my eye.

I dance with spectral equations in night’s laboratory,
mix pain and galaxies in a vial,
search for the meaning of “I” between an equation slipping from my memory
and a blurred childhood image swarming with asteroids.
Even the map I drew of myself unravels into planetary chaos—
each time I point to a place, I whisper, “Here I was… or here I will be!”

The universe mocks me in its way,
sends coded messages in nebula hues:
“When will you learn you’re just an echo of a sound never uttered?”
I answer with a scream fossilized in space:
“I am the one who wrote the questions before answers were born!”

I discover I exist only when I am lost.
Each time I near the riddle’s end, a thousand new labyrinths bloom.
I walk a road of shattered pasts, only to reach a future
wearing the same question’s altered face:
“Are you the hero, the author, or a stray letter in eternity’s novel?”

At the chapter’s end…
I wear the universe’s skin like a threadbare coat,
let my questions hang like drowning stars,
and vow tomorrow I’ll tear off every mask.
But…
who can shed their own self twice?
This Arabic poem is a profound, introspective exploration of identity, existence, and the cosmic unknown.
Niloo Feb 20
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺,
𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺?
𝘐𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺— 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦? 𝘖𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺.
Vitæ Feb 13
He drives dreaming,
     smoke writhing between
              gashed fingers keeps the
                                         wheel turning.
                                                  Sometimes,
                                an irresistible light
                     flares its hungry glare
           blinding the only eye
he can see with.
Sometimes,
     he's headlessly drifting,  
               and fears what's sprawled
                                 on the kerb might've
                                                        been him
                                    and when it isn't,
                              he pays a toll
       bound for the high way
black as a solstice night
     riding serpentine
          until he's no longer
                     prey to the break
                                              of day.
“Not a road long enough to outrun the dawn. Let the sun rise. I am ready.”
― L.M. Browning
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