#unseenstrength - Hello Poetry

Nothing can make things worthless. A failed mission cannot make technology useless. A drought or a failed crop can never make a farmer any less. A crumbled book cover or a torn page cannot make the book less valuable. A not-so-good-looking dish cannot be any less in taste. Everything has its own worth. Even if it faces failures, gets destroyed in some ways— it remains worthy, unchanged to the eyes that know its value.

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Jun 23, 2025

Jun 23, 2025 at 5:52 AM UTC

Arna_writes

Nothing Can Make Things Worthless

Nothing can make things worthless. A failed mission cannot make technology useless. A drought or a failed crop can never make a farmer any less. A crumbled book cover or a torn page cannot make the book less valuable. A not-so-good-looking dish cannot be any less in taste. Everything has its own worth. Even if it faces failures, gets destroyed in some ways— it remains worthy, unchanged to the eyes that know its value.

7

The Weight Below He stands where silence meets the sky, a rope wound tight through trembling hands— beneath him, stone and memory fly, suspended by his lone command. The rock, a heart too scared to fall, wrapped in threads of duty, grief, and grace, hangs heavy in the air’s thin call, a burden none but he can face. The cliff is time. The rope, resolve. The clouds, the ghosts that whisper “yield.” Yet still he leans, he will not solve the pain—just hold it, unrevealed. For some are anchors, not by choice, but by the shape their soul became. They bear the weight, without a voice, and never ask for love or name. https://poetryoflifeweb.com/ You can copy and paste link to my Poetry of life Poems, that shows the artwork that goes with each poem.

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Feb 19

Feb 19, 2026 at 3:53 AM UTC

LongJohnPaulBaldry

Anchors Without Names 1

The Weight Below He stands where silence meets the sky, a rope wound tight through trembling hands— beneath him, stone and memory fly, suspended by his lone command. The rock, a heart too scared to fall, wrapped in threads of duty, grief, and grace, hangs heavy in the air’s thin call, a burden none but he can face. The cliff is time. The rope, resolve. The clouds, the ghosts that whisper “yield.” Yet still he leans, he will not solve the pain—just hold it, unrevealed. For some are anchors, not by choice, but by the shape their soul became. They bear the weight, without a voice, and never ask for love or name. https://poetryoflifeweb.com/ You can copy and paste link to my Poetry of life Poems, that shows the artwork that goes with each poem.

19

She’s bends at the waist, but don’t mistake that for weakness. It’s the weight of life— the dishes, the laundry, the paperwork, the kids with their stories and questions stacked high on her back like a globe that never stops spinning. They sit up there, laughing, reading, wrapped in comfort she built from scratch. They don’t see the strain in her shoulders, the ache in her silence, the way she folds her tired body into love and just keeps going. No spotlight. No applause. Just quiet strength walking and working through the day like it’s normal to carry the whole world and still make tea. By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

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Apr 29

Apr 29, 2026 at 5:21 AM UTC

LongJohnPaulBaldry

She Carries It All (Rewritten)

She’s bends at the waist, but don’t mistake that for weakness. It’s the weight of life— the dishes, the laundry, the paperwork, the kids with their stories and questions stacked high on her back like a globe that never stops spinning. They sit up there, laughing, reading, wrapped in comfort she built from scratch. They don’t see the strain in her shoulders, the ache in her silence, the way she folds her tired body into love and just keeps going. No spotlight. No applause. Just quiet strength walking and working through the day like it’s normal to carry the whole world and still make tea. By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

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