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Andrew 9h
Tulips
Common, trusted, beloved.
Planted in gardens, gifted in joy,
Welcomed without a second thought.

And then—me.
Fragile, fleeting, misplaced.
Sought only in sorrow, left to wither,
A beauty seen too late,
A name too easily forgotten.

Lycoris Radiata.
T1n0 1d
"There's a tenderness in the way she holds
her sorrow like a worn photograph.
A soft bruise of her gaze that wraps around
my own scattered shards of shared sorrows.

Her smile doesn't promise to mend
the fractures of my heart. It simply
whispers, 'Me too,' and in that moment,
our loneliness is a shared sacrament.

In her eyes, I see the echoes of my own pain,
a reflected sorrow that makes the room
less empty, the shadows less oppressive.

And that's why, when you asked me what love is,
I thought of her, and the way she holds her sorrow.
It's not a balm that heals all wounds,
but a gentle acknowledgment that we're wounded together."
I was there twice. Two times I'd walked in thinking it’s home.
Second-guessing it both times as I stood in the hall.
These abandoned places that taught to abandon hope
handed me more ropes than there are in our old depot.

It is all a cycle – the shoulder you once leaned on
won’t be there this time, leaving you on your own,
either pointlessly leaning onto something resembling its sort
or forcing you into becoming your own support.

/it is all a cycle – the illness, the ambulance call,
as a body lies lifeless a back turns cold,
and a voice keeps saying it is his own fault
for not living and growing enough to grow old/

I was there twice, both times I got on my knees and prayed
to Our Lord, to be at the right time, in the right place.
In the inanimate bodies along my new way
I recognised all the mes that were once left strays.

But as God washed his hands in warm milk with honey
I moved in on a mountain of myselfs dying.
From a darker time in my life
Is it the silence that stretches between us,
a chasm carved by unspoken words?
Or the echo of arguments,
reverberating in the empty spaces we inhabit?

Did the rhythm of our lives fall out of sync,
when the new job demanded more than just time?
Or when the baby arrived,
and sleep became a forgotten luxury?

Does the weight of the world,
press down so heavily on your shoulders,
that there's no room left for me?
Or is it my own anxieties,
that build walls between our hearts?

Have we grown in different directions,
like branches reaching for sunlight,
oblivious to the roots entwined beneath the soil?
Or has the fire of intimacy dwindled,
leaving only embers of what once burned bright?

Are there needs I haven't acknowledged,
a yearning for something I can't quite name?
Or is it a weariness of the soul,
a longing for a peace I cannot find?

Could the shadows of depression,
or the whispers of anxiety,
be clouding your perception of our love?
Or is it simply the mundane,
the everyday grind that dulls the senses?

Is this distance a temporary detour,
a bump in the road we can overcome together?
Or a signpost,
pointing towards separate paths?

Is Valentine's Day just a reminder,
of the closeness we once shared?
Or an opportunity,
to rekindle the flame that flickers low?

Is love a constant,
or a fragile bloom,
requiring constant care and attention?
Or is it a choice,
a daily decision to stay,
even when the road gets rough?

And the ultimate question,
hanging heavy in the air tonight,
as the scent of roses mingles with uncertainty:
is this love worth fighting for?
This is a poem, that I never intended on sharing.  My Ex and my Daughter never knew it existed.  I wrote this over two decades ago.  The last Valentine's Day with her, which turned out to be the beginning of the end.  Every fight ended with her threat of "I want a divorce".... So I consulted a lawyer, her friends told her because they found out.  I hadn't filed, just looking at the options.  She filed and went nuclear.  This was penned days before I was served.
Andrew 4d
It’s the little things that can weigh the most,
The quiet aches no one sees.
Waiting for a text that doesn’t come,
The way their laughter fades when they talk to someone else.
Someone you love moving away,
And you never told them how much they meant.

They seem so small,
But they linger,
Settling into corners of your mind like dust.
You tell yourself it’s nothing—
Not war, not famine, not tragedy.
But in your world, it feels like an earthquake,
Shaking the fragile ground beneath your feet.
The cracks it leaves are too small for others to notice,
But wide enough to trip you when you try to stand.

“You’re overreacting,” they say.
“It’s not a big deal.”
But how can they know?
It’s your world that’s crumbling,
Your heart that’s already too heavy for something so light.

And maybe they’ll never see it.
The way those tiny splinters pierce the softest parts of you,
The way they bleed in silence while you smile.
It doesn’t shatter like glass,
It erodes like stone,
A slow, quiet unraveling of the person you used to be.
Into the darkness my eyes will gaze.
Painting the pictures of my pain.
Violent solutions and devilish ideas.
Are the only ones that suite my ideals.
As for why I do not know.
I just know to let go of hope.
In the end we all fade to black.
Leaving this world with nothing attached.
driven by madness,
the man crushed the little bird -
then heaved a grave tune.
As I lay dying, I cling to this life,
Everything in it—
The pain and the strife,
The heartbreak, the sorrow—
Always knowing I can start over tomorrow.  

As I lay dying, I feel too much regret.
Frantic and panicked, what did I expect?
If I had moved to the right, but I went to the left.
As my life leaves me, I wade toward the shore,
But it’s no matter anymore;
The big sleep’s knocking at my door.
The wind tears at bones,
Leaves scattered, forgotten flesh—
Roots choke on their grief.
darkness of my spirit

light will not bestow

sparks from my heart

transformed into ash

my once enlightened mind

dreams no more
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