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This is the essence of fear.
It is weak, it is not holy.
While fear is natural, and there is no shame in feeling it,
it is not strong.
It whispers to us in the dark and hides its face in the light.
Nothing holy shrouds itself in disgrace when illuminated by the light.
This is the reason why Satan and his cunning whispers of fear flee in the presence of God,
because they do not belong where God treads.

-Rhia Clay
Rain is
The dance of intertwined souls,
Whispers of lovers beneath moonlight,
An eternal prayer of love and boundless giving.
Nature’s song in muted syllables,
A kiss of passion and beauty upon the earth.
The embryo of new life,
A promise of roses and tulips yet to bloom.
A liberation of the mind—from the chains of fear and stress.
A call to awakening,
A beginning with a rebirth of hope.
The essence of life—God’s sacred water.

Hussein Dekmak
alex Jul 10
Is to observe the world
in all its intricate detail
To hear all the
unspoken words
To be a watcher at every moment
but never to be watched

From all the dark corners
where the whispers reach
is a fly, soundless, immobile
seeing all
yet seen by none
Lance Remir Jul 7
I still whisper
"Goodnight"
I still whisper
"Happy Birthday"
I still whisper
"I love you"
I still whisper
"I miss you"
Because a whisper
Is all I have left of us
Soulwhisper Jul 4
If someone stayed,
I wouldn’t need to be so strong.
I’d let my walls melt,
my silence spill into their arms,
and I’d cry
not out of pain,
but out of relief.
That finally,
someone saw the storm I’ve hidden
behind my soft smile.

If someone stayed,
I’d stop pretending.
I’d stop holding the world
while my own kept breaking.
I’d whisper things I’ve never said out loud

like how empty I feel in a full room,
and how loud the nights get
when I’m the only one listening.

If someone stayed,
I’d hug them and never let go.
Because once someone knows the real me

the soft me,
the shattered me,
the still-loving me…
I don’t ever want to lose that again.

So I stay quiet.
And I hope.
And I whisper to the stars…
For the ones who always stay strong for others but secretly wish someone would stay for them.
This is for the silent stormers — the soft souls hiding behind smiles.
Some poems aren’t just poems. They’re pieces of who we are
Soulwhisper Jul 3
My body’s cold, frozen in the ache,
Tears fall slow like the silent snowflake.
I don’t breathe, but I’m not gone
My soul still speaks when the light is withdrawn.

You can’t touch me, but I’m near,
A voice in the dark you still might hear.
I’m not warm, but I’m not dead,
I’m the echo of words we never said.
Still talking to you.

Shadows move where I used to stand,
Your name still burns on the back of my hand.
No heartbeat, but a rhythm remains
Soft as the moonlight, lost in the rain.

If you feel chills in the quiet night
That’s not the wind
That’s me holding on tight.

You can't see me, but I glow,
Between the stars, I softly flow.
I'm not lost, just out of view
Still talking...
to you
My first published piece — a whisper from my soul.
For anyone who’s ever lost, but never let go.
Thank you for reading my heart.
I want to whisper,
In your heart, so perfectly,
Beating within you.
hyun May 26
the wind blew a little harder today—
all for a chance to kiss you.
i guess the coldness of days gone by
do not scare you at all.

now I whisper to find you,
in the smallest of cracks,
in the pauses between breaths,
in the vastness of the evening breeze.

nothing could ever make me
stop searching for you.

nor will i ever want to.
salma May 15
The handwriting warm glimpses
Pushes the grief that always follow
The charge you consume
Plucks the soul you Bloom
the cold it holds beneath
drugs the ill that scars beneath
standing there with the whisper of fales that overwhelms
And and it grows until there's nothing underneath
There’s something about late September
that makes me want to text people
I only miss when I’m too tired to lie.

There’s a moth in my mouth again.
I try to sing and it *****.

Some nights I rehearse conversations
with people I haven’t forgiven.
Some of them are alive.
Some of them are me.

I keep a list of people
I swore I’d stop dreaming about.
I keep dreaming anyway.

I talk to no one
like they’ll answer differently this time.
I wake up with a wingbeat
pressed into the backs of my teeth.

I think I’m leaking
something no one taught me how to name.
It leaves stains on my straws
It fogs the mirror before I do.
It answers to my voice
but only when I’m not using it.

There’s something about late September
that makes everything feel returned,
but not forgiven.
I don’t text them.
I let the silence say maybe I meant to.
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