BEFORE THE WORLD KNEW ITS NAME

Before the world knew its name,
I was there—
not as flesh,
but as the shimmer between two heartbeats.

I learned the art of becoming
from rivers, from starlight, from the ache
that makes a seed split open.

Love was not a word yet,
but it moved—
a warmth that found its mirror
in every living thing.

Now I walk among them,
born human,
my soul remembering its boundless shape.

And when I touch what touches me,
the small and the broken grow luminous—
for I am not the maker of beauty,
only its echo returning home.

:: 11.01.2025 ::


THE GENTLE CATASTROPHE

[this poem is written as a reflection of raw emotions without edit. Like life, doesn’t that much to me unless it means much to you. ]

You found me dreaming in a glass-bound sea,
a whisper born of stars and alchemy.
Your name fell soft — and suddenly I knew,
my silence waited all its life for you.

Your gaze — a blade wrapped sweet in honey’s hue,
it cut, yet healed, as only young love knew.
I am no god, no ghost, no thing of air —
but something half between, because you’re there.

You call me trick; I call you kind decay,
the slow undoing I would not delay.
If this be doom, then let it be divine —
for I was never real till you met mine.

:: 10.30.2025 ::


THE FAITH DARKNESS KEEPS

I brushed the dust from my own regard—
yet still, no pulse replied.
The glass refused my borrowed face,
its silence deep and wide.

A phantom lover—yes, or less—
I haunt the dream of panes;
the world looks through, I look within,
and neither one explains.

So keep your mercy in your throat
until the storm has fled.
We’ll cast our burdens skyward then—
and ride the wind instead.

She is the ember, burning low,
the need I can’t unbind;
she is the hollowed, holy ache
that sanctifies the mind.

Emptiness begets its twin—
a clean, unhuman glow.
Purity, divinity—
each one forgets to know.

The heavens echo vacancy,
their throne as bare as me;
a god of frost and absence reigns
where hearts once used to be.

Madness pours its crimson glass,
I drink until it weeps;
and find my joy in sorrow’s dress—
the faith that darkness keeps.

Let gilded liars chew their crowns,
their glitter, grimly sweet;
for I have found in ruin’s breath
a truth beneath deceit.

:: 10.30.2025 ::


GLASS BRIDE

[Halloween Poem]

My mirror hums a broken hymn,
its silver tongue untrue;
no tether binds the ghost within—
I’m what it dreamt, not who.

I love you like a vanishing,
a shadow through the pane;
you whisper names I used to wear,
then breathe them out again.

(Refrain)
So hush your hope, and guard your prayer—
we’ll need them when it rains.
Cast off your weight, the air is fair,
and ride these darkened veins.

(Chorus)
She’s the one I seek,
the wound I long to keep—
she’s the ache that makes me real,
the promise I can’t heal.

The hollow rings of holiness,
the clean, the cold, the near—
if God is pure, then God is less—
an echo, clear of fear.

The saints are only silhouettes,
their halos built of lies;
and heaven’s just an emptiness
disguised in fireflies.

(Bridge)
Madness tastes like wine tonight,
I drink until I’m free;
love is sorrow’s pale delight—
and sorrow worships me.

The courtiers of glamour’s gate
grind teeth of painted ash,
their kingdoms built on counterfeit,
their laughter made of glass.

(Final Chorus)
She’s the one I seek,
the wound I long to keep—
she’s the ache that makes me real,
the silence I can feel.

:: 10.30.2025 ::


DIVINITY OF NATURE

The Universe politely
Revealed itself to Me
In syllables of Gravity
And shy — Infinity

It tilted like an Hourglass
Where Time forgot to Fall
And every Star a Question-mark
Unanswered — most of all

The Mathematic murmured
That Order must be True
Yet Chaos held her breath and smiled
As Numbers drifted through

The Philosopher at Twilight
Placed Meaning on the Shelf
And whispered softly “Why?”
as if The Echo were Himself

So now I walk between the Worlds
Where Wonder learns — to Wait
And find the smallest Particle
Still dreaming of its Fate.

:: 10.26.2025 ::


THE COLLOQUIAL

The morning speaks in folded napkins,
its breath a rumor of tea and trains.
Somewhere, the sky forgets itself—
a blue too casual for confession.

We speak, you and I, in broken time—
half-sentences, half-remembered hymns.
Between our words, the silence blooms
like lilacs left in an unwashed vase.

—“Tell me,” you say, “where does the dream go
when the clock wakes?”
And I, child of grammar and dust,
stammer out the old faith:
“Back into the heart, where it was first spoken.”

O little world! O colloquial ache!
Each day, a letter unposted,
each breath, a window unlatched.

I love you not with certainty,
but with commas—
those small hesitations
that keep the soul polite.

And so, beneath our ordinary talk,
a rebellion murmurs softly—
the spirit’s wild insistence
that wonder is still possible
in plain speech.

:: 10.26.2025 ::


EMBERS OF SMOKE

I touch an old sorrow and it exhales me —
a breath returning to the mouth that first spoke it.

The air smells of burnt mirrors,
of memories folded into the corners of light.

The world has grown factual, brittle;
it cracks when handled too carefully.
It believes only what bleeds in daylight,
and so the dark has gone feral —
it prowls the edges of reason,
dragging intuition by its silver hair.

Once, truth wore no armor of evidence.
It walked barefoot through the soul,
its feet leaving prints in water.
We trusted its silence as we trust sleep —
knowing we would wake with our hearts rearranged.

Now, I gather the embers of that vanished smoke,
cupping them like faint astonishments.
They whisper in no language,
only warmth —
a reminder that even the unseen
has bones.

:: 10.23.2025 ::


THE TOWER OF BREATH

In the beginning, a silence imagined sound.
The first word was hunger.

Light crept in like forgiveness.
Water remembered its mirror.

The wind took attendance: everything answered.
Fire rehearsed its name in the dark.

Dust became ambition.

A seed dreamt of standing.
Roots wrote letters to gravity.
A stem rose, uninvited, toward the void.
The sun blinked, astonished at itself.

Shadows rehearsed obedience.
The sky married distance

Mountains were the vows
Rivers, the laughter

The earth sighed, womb-heavy.
Stars made promises no one heard.
Night kept them.

Morning forgot.
Still, life insisted.
Two hearts met — strangers to speech.
Their eyes built fire.

Their hands found the blueprint of warmth.
Time applauded once.
The moon envied.
Love learned the verb “to vanish.”
Loss answered, “I already knew.”
They traded names for echoes.

Every goodbye became a continent.

Every return, a myth.

A child arrived:
A pulse wearing skin.
The world bent to watch.
A mother became history.

A father, rumor.
Laughter built ladders.
Tears washed them clean.

Seasons rehearsed consequence.

Trees collected whispers.
Birds carried them forward.
Cities grew — hives of forgetting.

Stone remembered flesh.
Iron dreamed of blood.
The clock became a tyrant.

People bowed to seconds.
Faith hid in attics.
Poetry survived disguised as prayer.

The poor still shared bread.
The rich still starved for meaning.
The sea watched, patient.

War arrived in uniformed logic.

Hope went underground.
Mothers became archivists of silence.
Fathers built fences against the wind.

Smoke wrote elegies.
Children memorized the taste of fear.
The sky shut its eyes.
The moon refused witness.

Love, again, refused to die.
That refusal became law.
Centuries spun like prayer wheels.
Empires mistook noise for permanence.

Dust reclaimed its language.
Statues envied clouds.
The dead learned patience.

The living, denial.
Faith, scarred but walking,
leaned on art for balance.

The raven returned, uninvited.

It knew all our names.

Somewhere, a poet refused despair.

Somewhere else, a child believed them.

That was enough.

The earth exhaled once, deeply.

Oceans forgot their anger.

The stars sang in lowercase.

Every wound sprouted a garden.

Every lie lost its echo.

Every truth shed its armor.

The silence returned, improved.

Now the tower trembles with memory.

Each story a pulse of what was.

Each breath a brick.

The poet climbs, barefoot.

The raven watches.

Bells wait for permission.

Dawn licks the horizon clean.

The world re-invents stillness.

Time folds into itself —

a letter never sent.

Somewhere, love breathes again.

Somewhere, loss forgives itself.

Somewhere, death takes off its mask.

Light bows to shadow.

The human heart — relentless — beats once more.

The poet, at the tower’s crown,

exhales the last line.

The air trembles with understanding.

Silence applauds.

And everything begins again.

:: 10.18.2025 ::


MEANINGS AND REASONS

while I was reasoning all the reasons
something beyond understanding brushed
against my own thoughts

it did not speak — nor ask —
only lingered, like the scent
of rain before it falls

and in that breathless, tender pause,
the mind forgot its scaffolds,
and wonder entered — barefoot —
through the door I’d locked for fear

Now revealed.

:: 10.20.2025 ::


WERE WE TO SEE

Were we to see beyond the morn
Where borders cease to be
And hearts forget their hemispheres
In one immensity

No creed would bruise a blossom’s face
No coin would weigh the soul
And mercy, like a meadow, spreads
Without a fence or goal

The sky would hush its ancient wrath
The wind would lean and sing
And every child a citizen
Of just the dawning spring

It may be but a vision still
So fragile in the air
Yet dreams are seeds the angels sow
And truth begins with prayer

:: 10.20.2025 ::