I’ve hidden lost sermons in my casual breath.
I folded them tight, pushed them into sarcasm.
We laughed at the joke, but you missed the ambiguity.
Some words only sharpen once their form leaves a chasm.

Some things we call unstable, wrong, or unfit—
Become relics we look to, only once their time’s gone.
No one hears the meaning of a prophet, mid-scream,
But we quote them the day that their truth breaks the dawn.

Some of us never even asked to be understood,
We can only hope to echo in your afterthought.
Because truth’s never loud—It’s subtle... Its dissonant…
So, its often mistaken, or ignored left to rot.

I live like a myth half-believed by its maker.
I pulse in and out, like static through wires.
My silence burns louder than sermons of choirs,
In golden temples built on sinful desires.

I left signals in inkblots, on letters I never sent,
And in the way that I’d pause before saying goodbye.
One day you might study those absences closer—
They’ll sing of my essence when I can no longer try.

Cause I once left my essence outside in the rain.
Just to see if it rots, or if a new one would sprout.
Turns out, it likes to sing—but only backwards,
And only to those who tried blocking it out.

This left me so lost that I swallowed a compass,
Just to feel in my gut, something real point to me.
But the needle kept swaying like my body still does.
Some directions are given, some were never meant to be.

If you were to ask me what my words really mean,
I might say, “What makes you think they mean anything?”
Meaning is a parasite; it only lives when it’s fed—
And I’ve starved that parasite to death. Repeatedly…

There’s a hallway in me that will never lead out—
Just dissociates to ensure you’re alone.
The paradox is fixed. You can’t change its course.
You’d rather tread blind, but it demands being shown.

I might carve these bitter truths into the air.
Won’t  see them, but you’ll cough, and know they were there.
You’d blame me for the smoke, and you’d call me unstable.
Ignore my intention, or you might not even care.

And maybe I am filthy, misbegotten, and unstable.
But when my tremors stop, I hope you notice my frame.
And the glow that I buried, might finally surface.
Then you might learn to love me for the darkness you shamed.

You might quote this clean, rid my words of the blood.
Say my signals were sent, from the God in your head.
When you sing my sad sonnets, you might guild them in gold.
I promise... This sounds so much better when I’m dead.

©
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦️
"The Quantum Bound Poet"

Your love burns with flame,
your touch warms even the coldest of hearts,
yet you walk alone.

You dance with the wind,
and mountains know when you walk,
you leave a trail, with silence you talk.

You weave the dreams
and stitch the time
you're what a rhythm is to a rhyme.

In your eyes secrets no one knows,
no one even dares to ask.

Yet you never hide and you never run.
You wake up with the moon and sleep with the sun.

You just are - in a way no one ever was.

There comes a hush with grumbling, rumbling sound—
Through skies, from highest clouds of charcoal gray,
While forest drapes like maiden's debut gown,
On swelling winds—a taste of dampened hay,
As jasmines shiver, full of haste and play,
The buttercups then blend in bluebell fields,
While parched earth, in thirst, to heavens pray,
The water lilies bloom, and lotus shield,  
While gardenia and tuberose nectar yield.

Those armored hermits peek above, so sly,
While wrigglers writhe from homes beneath the ground,
And quiet buzzards—silent shelters seek,
The red and tiny soldiers surround
Their hill before the floods come crashing down.
There goes the sun to hide behind the clouds,
Like shyest child behind her mother's gown.
The clouds eclipse the sky like mountain's shroud,
How I have waited long—for petrichor, thy crown!

The first then falls—so delicate this drop,
Like chiming choir of creation, its fall,
So, earth then sighs its prayer in backdrop.
Like divine dance of Lord from heaven's ball,
To fill the world as seraph's colours, fall.
The peacocks twirl in iridescent trance,
While swallows dive and egrets skim and roll.
Like scattered jewels, shooting down to prance,
The first of vernal rain bestows a second chance.

At drip-a-drop they form a symphony—
Like rolling sheets of highest paradise
Conjoined the deepest hells invisibly.
For once, then twice, and lastly falling thrice
In festive thrum of fervent drums, they rise.
Like sapphires falling down from onyx sheets
Of darkened skies, so measureless in price.
The merchant clouds to earthly rivers greet
And ply the blue and pearly wares from angel's fleet

Like clouds, the puddles spread across the land,
The sky's reflection cast upon the earth,
These puddles overflow as bubbling bands
And streams like argent ribbons, gurgling mirth
That stitch themselves from flash of thunder's lurch,
Like melting hymns upon the mount and vales,
And washing tales from stones about the dearth.
Then sleeping beasts so churn across the dales,
Like witches' inky cauldron full of silent wails.

Sometimes
People
Are *****
And I find myself
Disappointed
With the entire species

Other times,
They do
the damnedest things,
Restoring my Faith
Just in the nic of time