Tag Archives: #poet

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 ::


HYPERKNOT

I. Proof of Ache (Acrostic with Hidden Name)

Pixel saints flicker above a dead phone, promise in packets, rumor returning.
Hush of the feed at 3 a.m.—the city’s eyelids scroll for a kinder glow.
Inside the glass I ghost my face, messaging the void with a velvet prayer.
Looped notifications bead like rosaries; I mouth their data in secret.
Love is an interface—yet also a room that edits the pulse to silence.
I sign what I cannot say, each tap a knuckle at Infinity’s door.
Parallel lives unzip in tabs; I keep the one that glitches and calls me beloved.

Every algorithm wants my ache to stabilize; I refuse, and it blossoms harder.
Printers of truth jam; rumors unjam. I staple the night to the morning and wear it as armor.
Real is a rumor confirmed by yearning; speak it, and the mirror fogs.
On the curb, a siren tutors me in red grammar; I conjugate hurt to future perfect.
Blue is the browser where she appears—twice removed, thrice returning, always unsigned.
Let the body be a document with margins wide enough for miracles.
Every promise is a password with a hidden expiration; I memorize the pattern of forgetting.
Somewhere a door keeps opening into itself; I practice entering by staying.

II. Golden Shovel for the Leaving Lady

I build a hush the width of a street and name it faith, Because
the city keeps its clock in my ribs; if I stop, it stops, and I
pretend not to notice the moon rehearsing our phone-glow; you could
edit me softer, I say—but you won’t; I agree to want what I not
understand: the shape your silence makes when I stop
typing. A comet clears its throat—your profile turns—only for
a second—then the postcard grin: the sovereign of Death
cruising the boulevard in a soft sedan. You wave as if He
were rideshare; you laugh at the meter running, how kindly
you lean to adjust the mirror so I look endless. The car stopped
between two centuries, and I count each breath like tabs; the door opens for
no one and for everyone—and yes, I get in. You don’t. You hum for me.

III. Mirror Practice (Palindromics & Returns)

live not on evil
Able was I ere I saw Elba
Backspace the prayer, then pray the space back.
What I forgive returns—not as itself, but as a better question.
I look into the look that looks back, and choose to be seen.

:: 09.06.2025 ::


ABSTRACT Intimacy

a finger unbuttons the sky
blue spills out like old music

& a fish recites the alphabet
backward — in Braille —

on the walls of your skull

your thoughts wear ballet shoes
tied by the tongues of clocks

—time hiccups—

and your name dissolves
into a bouquet of
untranslatable
questions

meanwhile

the moon paints your shadow
on the inside of my ribs
with feathers stolen
from a blind swan’s dream

:: 04.01.2025 ::


WHEN i WAS

WHEN I WAS

When she was
stiff and brand new—
she breathed only halfway,
like I did
when I came back from death,
a soft weight
wrapped in my mother’s arms
running toward
fluorescent salvation.

there was a cost—
you feel it in the joints,
in the clicks of becoming
a machine,
an engine,
a child
re-learning breath.

i touched her gently—
checked her rhythm,
spoke to her warmth.
turned the key
like i once turned back
to this world.

she sputtered,
jerked—
the way i did
before memory locked in.

and slowly,
we found our motion.
low to second to high—
the hum like heartbeat.
around the corner of something divine
i pressed down,
gave her the juice—
and she came alive.

first ride,
first taste,
and we both knew—
this was joy borrowed
from some distant grief.

on return,
i stopped her with care—
both hands—
brought her trembling
into quiet.

as I once was.
as I still am.
giving you
what’s left of the cake.


Reality is not what we think — BUT WHAT WE FEEL

IS there a time
where everything
is okay? I’d never
forget where you were
at all when realizing
reality is not
what we think

but always what we feel

~~ so clear the tears/like
ice melting \ it bruised
our face:

The “feeling” of reality
is not scientifically correct
but romantically perfect.

and how i love you
and everyone in your time

\.

:: 03.06.2025 ::

the title is not a poem
but a thesis


ECHOES OF THE ETERNAL HORIZON

Oh, let the timeless sands of fate,
Beneath my feet, reverberate.
A pathway carved through cosmic tide,
To realms where dreams and shadows bide.

The sun bows low, the stars ignite,
An endless tapestry of night.
Through deserts vast and mountains high,
I ride the whispers of the sky.

My spirit bends, yet does not break,
The earth and heavens I forsake.
In search of truths that have no name,
I dance amidst the sacred flame.

Beneath the crimson, burning sea,
A voice calls out, it speaks to me:
“Beyond the veils of space and time,
The songs of ancient worlds still chime.”

And as the rhythm stirs my soul,
I feel the fragments become whole.
The past, the now, the yet-to-be,
Converge in one infinity.

Through shifting winds and waves of gold,
A story vast, yet still untold.
I am the seeker, bound yet free,
The echo of eternity.

:: 12.18.2024 ::


A Part of Humanity

When love falters, let it rise—
a phoenix from the ashes of indifference,
winged with the breath of countless hearts.
May it weave a tapestry across the skies,
binding the torn edges of a fractured world.

If smiles should pave the streets of nations,
let them shine brighter than sunlit oceans,
granting passage to every soul—
fearless, unbroken, sovereign.

Let the earth become a hymn of oneness,
its verses sung by tongues diverse yet true,
a common melody spun from precious threads,
united in love’s immortal embrace.

See the mothers with their infants,
cradled beneath the canopy of hope.
Behold the fathers—pillars against despair,
and elders, the keepers of wisdom’s flame.
Together they stand,
their shadows merging into one vast humanity.

Oh, how magnificent life,
when borders fade like mist before the dawn!
What joy to cast aside the illusory lines
and clasp the hands of every stranger
as though they are kin.

To love is to stand atop the mountain of our being,
and shout against the winds of hate:
“No more! We are One! We are indivisible!”
It is to hear the echo of angels—
their voices weaving through the fabric of time.

Love and happiness are boundless rivers,
coursing through the valleys of our souls,
dissolving the rocks of division and strife.
What miracle to feel the warmth of the eternal,
to release the chains of anger and ascend!

Let us, the stewards of this fragile sphere,
carry the torch of love into every shadowed corner.
Let us sow the seeds of peace,
and reap the harvest of joy everlasting.
For in the dance of hearts united,
humanity finds its divine reflection.

:: 11.26.2024 ::


An Accidental Gift

\

Why—Life—art Thou bestowed—on me
In ruthless Mystery
A Wanton Gift of puzzled Might
Condemned Eternally

To what strange Hand could call me forth
From Timeless Oblivion
And thrill my timid Soul to Fear
And quiver Thought—unknown?

No aim before me beckons clear
My Heart an Empty Tune
And dull fatigue the Rhythm wears
Of Life’s unending Rune.

11.11.2024


AESCULAPIUS’S GRIP

Out of Aesculapius’s grip I slip,
a lean, shaven wraith erupting from dust,
my shadow unwinds itself from his claws,
and I emerge—an inkling of breath
in the open sky’s electric conspiracy.

Health looms like a lover, half-formed,
a promise lurking in the fissures of sleep,
she prowls into my room, leaves fingers trailing
through corners crammed with forgotten mirages,
her touch reconfigures the air, the sheets, the self.

Yes, you, wild echo of laughing caverns,
lawless herald, bearer of the wine-stained torch—
how I have longed for your mythic embrace,
you creature of Pindus, crouched in the folds of mountains,
sworn to the faith of Venus, the fierce fangs of Bacchus.

Bring me out of Petersburg, that mausoleum of voices,
where hours idle in cold columns of marble talk,
where tongues flicker like wet needles,
drawing silence from silence, and boredom breeds its kind
like a tired whisper that slithers through glass.

Instead, open the path to hills unraveled,
to fields bursting from the seams of reason,
to the maples aching for sunlight
by the river that wears a coat of stars,
to all the uncharted liberties that earth hoards.

And in October, bring the splintered cup,
let it tremble in our hands as we fill it to the rim,
we’ll raise it to the fools with waxen eyes,
to those who are shadows of their shadows,
to the heavens that bleed from hidden suns,
and to the earth-bound Czar who dreams he rules.

:: 11.06.2024 ::


WITHIN MY ALL “DREAM”

CRU
SHINATELY
AIN
CRU
SHINATELY

is  Godless 

PUR __ ,
pose
AS WORDS that cry
and break SILENCE ——
(endbegi ndesginb ecend)tang
lesp
ang
le
s
of EnteralL i ght
WE eat blood and flesh
2 B e per Fect
PAIN IN OUR H8ARTS

LO ve
Lit(
-tling-
for souls
of) ! (a. Sprit because we
Adore Birds for they sing
our SONG —–
Y & es
(all from the e
ter.

 nal.  Universe.

KEEPSUMMERGROWINGBEAUTIFULFLOWERS
OFLOVE

:: 11.21.2020 :