#hopeinthequiet
_Opening line_ —
Walking from a dream to death,
Waking from death to a dream —
The dream that stole my last breath:
Sleep and life stitched by the same seam.
I am not a beard, yet so much
Of living has been taken by the chin;
Dragged through seasons shaping me,
trimming me down by force than by vision.
Trying to step ahead of everything —
I am a shoebox tied with old string,
Wrapped in a cloudy sheet of memories.
Yesterday's tears gather like unpaid debts,
When even the smallest step feels so _stiff_.
Breath is the essence of life,
But our breath is always leaving us;
Know we’re only guests in these bodies,
Passing through the hours as the hours do
Their grieving — and every inhale reminds
Us that its last exhale is already pre-planned.
And so, waking from death to a dream,
I breathe knowing each breath is a door
Quietly closing behind me — I keep walking,
Pushing forward, opening the next door
Even as the last one fades. _Closing line._
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 2:42 AM UTC
Behind the silence, a watchful soul remains—
Not a soldier, but a prayer wrapped in names.
In every tale of war and whispered plea,
A friend’s voice echoes, never holy, just free.
He doesn’t sit on a hero’s throne,
But by the window, quiet and alone.
His weapons— pen, poem, and memory’s flame—
Guardian of what was, keeper of hope’s name.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 3:59 AM UTC