#profound
i'm 22 now,
I still don't understand grief.
i've lost people, things,
myself even.
it's never felt like this before...
I know about denial, and anger, bargaining, depression and even acceptance.
I've been through it all before, I've lived it and felt better after.
but I think there's a secret sixth stage of grief that no one ever tells you about
a kind of grief only unlocked when you lose something profound.
I don't feel anger like I normally would, or sad like usual after a loss. not this time. There's no denial, no acceptance for this one.
I would burn the world to the ground if I could.
I would etch your image into every surface I found until the very earth couldn't spin without knowing you were there, that you existed upon it.
I would write books in your name,
write words so life altering that every person who read my verses would never love again without loving in your image.
there's a middle space, between acceptance and denial.
a soft inky black space that you used to fill with light, that used to hum with the sound of your purr. a warmth that was extinguished when you did.
and id flip myself inside out if it meant I was with you
..wherever it is you went
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 4:14 AM UTC
“ https://hellopoetry.com/poems/5281518/prayer-will-be-the-end-of-us
https://hellopoetry.com/@henryakeru
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“We have learnt to mourn without a sound
because grief is now too often found”
<>
how hard it must have been
for a man
“Who loves life loves poetry”
to compose this hearse of verses
and my mind
is modified and modifies
his eloquence
ever so slightly
and i think with no millisecond’s lapse:
(our) grief is now too often profound
yes we tire with exhaustion from “thoughts and prayers,”
skip over the particulars of the daily newest school shooting,
random shooting on city streets, that murders a baby in his stroller,
or a citizen pushed to death in front of a subway car
and turn the page,
it is not a wearied callousness
we are displaying,
no, it is a grief so river deep,
it is the nth level of profundity
when words become unavailable,
not from overuse
but from complete collapse
from the sharp edges of keen bloodletting
we prefer an unholy silence
to a wailing grieving
we are in a permanent state of
permanent wrack and ruin
coverup
“Profound"
so deeply felt, great intensity,
often a silent sorrow, crackling thoroughout our veined nature entire,
a physically deep soured sorrow fulfilling
the few crevices and cracks as of yet, tearwater unpolluted
and we have no conception of a new
mournful
prayer to utter,
deemed deserving of an
Amen.
end.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 10:52 AM UTC
It’s been so long since words melted from my finger tips,
I’d forgotten the passion of words as I became worn,
worn down by a passionless love,
profoundly I’m willing to grow again,
and remember my soul once (again),
how could I have forgotten what it meant to write?
foolish me thinking love could merit,
and turn me away from such a miserable fate,
I am finding happiness and reminding myself to breathe,
fresh air is starting to fill my lungs,
oh how winter approaches but spring still lives in me,
welding my life back together,
I’m finally remembering (me),
someone I plan on never forgetting evermore..
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
Profundity is found
in the simple, everyday
occurrences that our
human brains apply
immense meaning to.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 6:41 PM UTC
It is no measure
Of good health
To be well adjusted
To a profoundly
Sick society
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 1:21 AM UTC
Life is circular, even for those untouched by the realms
of faith or spirituality— _every moment secular._ Let us exalt
the fervour of true commitment, warn the youth against the
allure of materialism — my attempts of such were a mere tip
of advice, too blunt for those who didn’t own sharpeners.
I see of the stillness and shadows, that leaves drift silently,
nameless in the breeze; they grow increasingly embarrassed as
they succumb to decay. Yet, from the **** talk of human chatter,
the refuse of their speech can still be turned into the fertile ground
from which life may sprout. Even as the curtains descend on the
grand performance, the essence of existence continues to unfold
in the shadows, a narrative the world may never truly grasp.
Close your eyes and let your heart sketch the tableau—fold your
arms to spare the world further anguish; as the youth, armed with
lessons from their screens, race onward. They'll drive forever, though
forever is not a human art — lovers whisper, “I’ll love you forever,”
yet the cracks remain of one’s broken heart.
Let us pay tribute to the hour’s accord; strike a chord like a pact—
though not one forged in Lucifer’s handshake, bartering your soul
for a fleeting piece of existence in this world. Raise your sword,
sun-kissed and gleaming—this pen that can colour the world in
vibrant hues, a dream so vivid, yet never forget the wildness of
this realm; humanity resembles a chaotic zoo.
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 4:46 PM UTC
If I speak truth without knowing until later when affirmed, then I know it was another.
If I speak truth, yet woven in it are greater and deeper truths, constructed without intent nor awareness, then I know it was another.
If my simplicity conceals a manifold complexity with greater simplicity, ie beauty, then I know it was another.
If what I wrote or said long ago is ever new, surprising and constantly inspiring with each re-reading or re-hearing, as if they are living and ever growing, then I know it was another.
If every thought is not only consistent with all that's revealed but reveals yet more, especially that most subtle but utterly profound, that I cannot help but believe that I've transcended into a realm beyond all earth, then I know it was another.
If it is what it is, is so familiar, like one knew from long ago, and never apart, inseparable as soul and spirit, heart and mind, that it's mere shadow is sufficient for proof, then I know it was another.
Aug 7, 2024
Aug 7, 2024 at 9:58 AM UTC
You only judge;
Or misjudge, the minimal effort you saw while my mind was gagged and bound
The many breakdowns you were a part of where no fix could be found
And the deluged of tears you hardly stuck around long enough to see hit the ground
You never asked;
About the profound effort of simply starting a day on the day priors rebound
About the countless cries that tried to break through the red tape but never found sound
Or about the tears I was told weren't allowed to form with other people around
Leaving me to question;
Can a life be built on the middle ground?
I guess the more important question is,
Do you desire to turn this thing around?
Is there any interest,
What-so-ever,
In seeing if a middle can even be found?
I'd appreciate your response but don't expect to see one come around
Fool heartedly yours,
The Crying Clown
©2024
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 2:58 PM UTC
i saw a dog in
my mind when i was seven
truth profound i saw
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 12:47 PM UTC
Until you
I never knew
Everything, I need to know
The right path
What home feels like
All align to peace
Naturally
And so much more
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC
Her beauty is profound
Leaving me blinded and tongue tied
Her grace is majestic
Inspiring me to learn her secret language
Her intelligence is a sacrament
Enticing me to be baptised and take off my disguise
Her gaze is soul searching
Precipitating my inevitable spiritual rebirthing
Her beauty is profound
Leaving me enraptured and spell bound
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:41 AM UTC
He watered the flowers in my chest and they blossomed.
I showed him all of the colours on my tongue and he stayed.
He’s like a breath of fresh air,
clearing my mind but filling my lungs.
It’s different and warm. It’s hopeful.
This feels so easy. It’s serene.
There is something remarkable in the way he speaks,
the way he laughs and whispers and sings.
It will remind you of knowledge infused innocence.
Until we’re ********** each other in the kitchen.
We kiss and it’s like I’ve tasted everything sweet,
while my body is being set on fire and
the butterflies’ wings still flutter with desire.
I lay my ear flat against his chest, as I try to
memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat.
We’re driving on an empty highway past borrowed land.
“Paris” is playing at volume thirty five.
I look over and you take my hand.
The rear view mirror is reflected in your green eyes
while the corners of your mouth turns up into a smile,
almost in slow motion. Now I can feel my own grow.
We stay silent but I know and you know:
this is the most profound feeling in life.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
-Now here is why I said that.
Think about this poem's title. Did you think it was something deep or profound?Did you think it was some great truth?
nope. I just took some words that sounded pretty and strung them together.
So why put your trust in words that you have no understanding of, but that sound nice, and persuade you into being content and not asking questions?
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 6:35 PM UTC
To touch a heart
is to be a part
of a work of art.
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 1:10 PM UTC
Keep puffing poisonous clouds
I feel stress decrease
Lost like my former self
Keep searching for inner peace
Things are so out of place
Been ****** up for awhile
Try to keep my mind right
Hosting self-blame and denial
I obstruct noise with music
Block distractions with volume
Worries barge in large groups
Interrupting speakers loud tune
Nothing quiets my ever-screaming thoughts
No sound drowns my troubled brain out
Tried but am incapable of
Changing what I think about
Sometimes I lose control and cry
It's the only thing I can
In bed dreaming happy futures
Hope to get there but have no plan
Fall asleep before pillows dry
Fall apart when dusk creeps in
Negativity held in place by lies
Like laundry hung on clothespins
Love is our ultimate weakness
Only great fools believe otherwise
We escape life through others
That is our true demise
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 6:51 AM UTC
Life is life
Winding streets
Laughter
Love
Moving feet
Take every step
With cautious care
Eventually
You will get somewhere
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC
If I had a quarter for every time I wished
For you and I to take a trip to yesterday
I don't know exactly how rich I would be
But it would add up to a lot of change
I don't know what I'd do with that cash
But I would spend every cent on you
Doing whatever you like till it's gone
Or till there's nothing left to do
Or we could leave where we are for good
Pack up all our things today and leave
I could take your hand and whisk you far from here
To a place our tomorrows will always be happy
I will say farewell to bad memories
Never look that direction again
Like arrows we will fly toward the future
Our time in this small town will end
Presently I have your heart to hold
And although time may never give me a replay
I am too lucky to be nostalgic
Done wishing for yesterdays
Oct 12, 2019
Oct 12, 2019 at 3:35 AM UTC
It's that moment
when the pieces
of the puzzle
all combine.
And you see a
glorious picture
that you doubted
that you'd find.
And then after
when the pieces
are inspected
each with care.
You see purpose
and see meaning
each too valuable
to spare.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
As I awake from the cryogenic slumber I was put in, I find myself walking around a mansion. It must be a century into the future, but everyone still seems to be asleep in their pods.
As I walk around, my feet guide me through a tunnel lit by hanging candelabras, as though they have a life of their own. Few moments later, I find myself standing in front of a of a jagged wooden door with tiny bugs crawling up the dented-scratches and a loose door **** awaiting to be opened to the library that stretches far and wide.
The windows are tinted vintage yellow and air stenched with the musty smell of worn books; heavied with dust. The large maghony table stands alongside the ladders and railings, allowing access to the different levels of the library.
My hand reaches out for a leather-bounded book, as though it was longing to be read and plucked from the ornately carved bookshelf. It is my biography; my breathings worded and memories penned.
Stunned, I ran my fingers along the frayed pages, to find the stories of every person to have crossed paths with stretched out across the pages.
I re-read pages, letting the wordy essence cling to my skin and the embers to re-ignite. I allowed myself to taste the salt and sugar of the sunrise to sunset span with the ones who left inky footprints across my heart. Until I came across a name that started resurfacing from the dustiest parts of my mind.
Out of curiosity I reach out to the protruding mark to find myself holding her biography, and countless pages stained with my name. “I sat there tossing sorrows from one hand to another, trying to let the blue ink gush onto the page in front. I could feel the darkness coaxing my mind, labeling me with names as I held back the tears stinging my eyes. I was an invisible cloak; an outcast who was unwanted.
But then she came, each step paced with confidence. Her curls leaked sunshine into the room; I could feel it warming the cold that layered me. I found her seating herself near me, as the girls behind me laughed like a pack of hyenas, gossiping about the new faces entering.
I found her looming above me, her hair brushing against my forehead “Wow, has anyone told you write really well?” but all I could manage was a shy smile in comparison to her gleaming grin that swallowed her cheeks whole. That was the first time I heard someone say that and then there was something warm, fuzzy, a spark? Happiness? Hope? It felt foreign and different, almost energetic but I craved more.
In the coming days I watched as she drove herself with passion, reaching out to catch stars, blooming herself and handing it to others. She was alive and vibrant. Almost brilliant like lightning, enlightening the sky with her spark like the one that was fuzzing between my cells.
Her presence was alluring, I found myself responding to her wavelengths, wanting to resonate with it; to have purpose, meaning and life. She made me want to untangle myself from the toxic relationships I had. It made me want to stop drinking the poison they fed me. It made me want to crave for good. To nourish my body and to breathe.
She called me on my birthday; no one ever called me on my birthday. The next day she hugged me and turned my hurricanes to a whiff. Weeks after that she invites me to her birthday, pulling me away from my world as I accepted her hand paving paths for me to explore.
I flicked a few grainy pages ahead.
“Are you okay?” She said as she though she could smell the stench of it on me. As though she could see me drowning within myself. And in that moment I let her in, I broke the walls, I let them crash. I let the ocean erupt open through my pores. I let my rusty voice box to voice its cries. Even though I spoke in language that came natural to me; chaos. But she sat there listening patiently, and in that moment I wrote about how her ears were made of empathy, eyes of moonlight that made me feel lighter and blissed.
I watched her move with such zeal that I was mesmerized. She became my muse, my inspiration. So I undressed myself of self-loathing and set out to talk to people and explore. My bruised throat ringed and my chewed tongue wanted to speak. My hands wanted to write for my younger self that stayed quite all this time.
She breathed air into my collapsing lungs, became the brightest of hues in the world of my blues. I was a dead language and she pronounced me with life.
Here I am, a writer. All because of that compliment that left me to weave my sorrows, revertebratating the hope she gave me through my writing. Hoping to provide the same inspiration and passion she inspired me with. She restored the courage in my spine; the faith in my cells and the love into my heart that I tucked safely into inky words hoping someday someone feels the same.
I closed the book as I traced the last line, with a tear in my eye. How could’ve my trivial action have such a profound affect?
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
It's all just words.
I don't really have anything profoundly intricate to say - everything I write is just a stream of consciousness jotted down on a note in my phone that I load to a website anonymously hoping someone, somewhere will see it and feel something.
-t.s.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
there was nothing profound about me
except
my love
for you
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 4:31 PM UTC