The stained-glass sun on Sundays gleamed,
A holy light, or so it seemed.
He preached of faith with fervent breath,
But in his heart, a quiet death.
His first true love, a fragile vine,
Had withered, lost, a shattered sign
That even faith could not make whole,
The broken fragments of a soul.

He spoke of grace, a gentle flood,
While in his veins ran bitter blood.
He counseled others, "Let it go,"
A seed of truth he could not sow.
The pulpit felt a lonely stage,
A gilded, unforgiving cage.
He prayed for strength, a peaceful art,
To mend the fissures in his heart.

Then in his prayers, a whisper came,
Not searing hurt or burning shame,
But quiet peace, a simple sound,
On holy, humble, hallowed ground.
He saw her face, not with the pain
Of endless loss and falling rain,
But with the love he once had known,
A love that truly was his own.

Forgiveness was the key he sought,
A battle he had bravely fought.
Not for her sake, but for his own,
To find the strength to stand alone.
He let the anger, grief, and fear,
Dissolve like teardrops, crystal clear.
He chose to love without the cost,
The one he thought his heart had lost.

And as he spoke from that same place,
His words were filled with honest grace.
Not learned by rote, or dry as dust,
But born of a renewed trust.
He understood the sacred art
Of mending a despairing heart,
For in his pain, a lesson lay,
That lit his path and showed the way.

He found that love, when truly free,
Is not about a you and me,
But is a gift you give to all,
Answering every weary call.
His first love's memory, once a dart,
Became a compass for his heart.
Forgiveness taught his soul to bend,
And love became his truest friend. ©

Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"

Can a light give off its glow,
if no power makes its flow?

Can a rose give off its beauty,
if not pruned with simple duty?

Can a river quench a thirst,
if its very source is cursed?

Can a house stand tall and strong,
if its very base is wrong?

Can a mirror show a face,
if a lie has clouded its space?

Can a song be sweet to hear,
if its notes are born of fear?

Can you and I love our neighbors as one would embrace themselves,
if our love is just an empty shell, placed on a dusty shelf?
When it’s agenda-driven, a betrayal, a pitfall, "Much Said"...... ©

Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"

Many would say that AI wrote my poems,they generally would like to pore hate into my soul.

From where I stand,the rocks pass right through, the holes placed there by others, they can't touch me, they are old, never, new.

In deed, I ask Gemini, for assistance to spell, grammar has never been my strong point, nor sharing my poems to the public, to be embarrassed as hell.

If you're looking for someone to criticize, make them look bad. Please allow me to offer myself, to give everyone else a brake, instead.

The words you speak have no effect on me, except to continue writing, placing my poems on "Hello Poetry"  ©

Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"

My dearest confidante, now just a ghost,
A shattered mirror of the memories we host.
A silent phone, a number I can't call,
A final curtain is closing on it all.

The echo of your laughter haunts the air,
A bitter pill of what we used to share.
The promises we whispered to the stars,
Now stand as monuments to hidden scars.

I trace the lines of what we used to be,
A fading mural of your face and me.
Each shared secret, now a heavy stone,
Weighed down by a silence I have known.

A tapestry of trust, now torn and frayed,
The colors of our bond began to fade.
I watch as strangers fill the space you left,
A hollow vessel, utterly bereft.
For in this void, a bitter truth takes root,
A love without a single, tender shoot.

The comfort of your voice, a distant chime,
A memory suspended out of time.
A fractured compass, spinning in the night,
I stumble onward, grasping for the light.
The path we walked, a road I now avoid,
A future we had promised, now destroyed.

So here I stand, upon this barren ground,
Where all our hopeful, tender words once sound.
A silent prayer for what we couldn't save,
A lonely vigil at a friendship's grave.
In this pain, a final lesson lies,
That even stars can fall from clouded skies. ©

Michael Powers
(STYXX ON FIRE)

"I Once Was, I Am"

I once was a passerby, you never saw, keeping my eyes cast to the ground,
afraid of looking at you, of seeing what had you bound.

Now, I am the one who meets your gaze, with courage newly found,
My spirit is an open book, speaking words you may find profound.

Before the moment is gone, be sure to apply the balm to your eyes,
applying it to your soul, where wisdom will arise,

   My Solder, make way, gather your weapons at my word, be full of courage, always in control, not given to insanity, dormant in the soul. I am with you no matter where u go. ©

MICHAEL POWERS
(STIXX ON FIRE)

No Moment Wasted.........

A current ran, a spark took hold,
A story whispered, brave and bold.
She walked in light, a spirit bright,
An inner glow, dispelling night.


Focused now, on what tomorrow brings,
Like an athlete poised, with hopeful wings.
The thrill of victory, her spirit's quest,
No agony of defeat, putting her to the test.


Though her past holds trials, ups and downs,
Her vision's clear, no clouded crowns.
Upon her path, no shadows play,
No deception taints her righteous way.


Her inner fire, a brilliant, steady gleam,
Fulfills a deep and vital dream.
No simple path, but one so true,
A strength in all she journeys through.
A melody, a gentle, rising sound,
Where quiet resonance is found.


Should you find her, know this truth untold,
Her spirit's not for easy hold.
Your truth and mind, she'll surely test,
For she deserves nothing but the best.
No moment wasted, nothing less,
She's earned this strength. She's passed the test. ©

MICHAEL POWERS
(Styxx On Fire)

Misdirection.......

A flick of the wrist, a shimmer of light,
The gaze drawn left, but the truth slips right.
A whispered promise, a charming new face,
While shadows lengthen in a hidden place.

Can you hear it, was it there? There it is again,
Slipping by, close enough to whisper in your ear.
A faint echo where silence should reign,
A fleeting movement, a ghost in the brain.

You turn your head, but the space is quite bare,
A trick of the mind, or was something truly there?
Walking a path, cobblestones under foot,
More time in the brain, filled with soote.

The path winds on, though the trick is now past,
A silent residue, meant long to last.
A question lingers, a doubt takes its hold,
In stories whispered, both new and old.

With a tunnel close, sides closing in,
Is that the hand you hold your friends?
The air grows thin, a whisper of dread,
For paths chosen, and words left unsaid.

In shadowed alleys, where loyalties bend,
Do you find a companion, or an ill-fated friend?
All at once, awake, you start to scream,
"Let me go!" a desperate, waking dream.

Yet, this strange place where misdirection reigns,
Holds a dark comfort that forever stains.
You run from truth, from clear and open skies,
Embracing shadows, and comforting lies.


Until the master, with a final, swift hand,
Reveals the true nature of this hollow land.
The stage lights blaze, the curtain falls wide,
And you stand alone, with nowhere to hide. ©


MICHARL POWERS
(STYXX ON FIRE)