Category: Poetry

The trees all whisper secrets low,
Their branches bend, then let them go.
Leaves take flight, a golden spray,
Dancing wildly on this windy day.

The clouds race fast across the blue,
As if they’ve urgent things to do.
The flags all snap, the shutters creak,
The wind has much it wants to speak.

It howls through alleys, sharp and cold,
A restless force, untamed, bold.
It lifts the waves in foaming play,
And chases calm and peace away.

Yet in its roar there’s something free—
A voice that hums of air and sea.
It shakes the dust, it clears the way,
And stirs the soul—a windy day.

I miss you in the quiet hours
when morning hasn’t found its light,
when the world is still half-asleep
and my thoughts wander where you are.

I miss you in the noise
of crowds and passing conversation,
where every laugh sounds almost like yours
and my heart turns, hoping.

I miss you in the spaces
you used to fill without trying—
the chair, the room, the way the air
felt warmer just because you were near.

I miss you in the memory
of small things—
the soft echo of your voice,
the way your presence settled me.

And though time keeps moving,
pulling me forward, step by step,
a part of me stays where you are—
still reaching, still waiting,
still missing you.

The clock hums soft in the corner’s glow,
While raindrops whisper what I already know.
The streets outside are quiet, still,
And shadows dance against my will.

The TV flickers—just noise, no sound,
A hollow laugh, an empty round.
I pour a drink, then set it down,
No toast to make, no one around.

Old records spin their weary tunes,
Echoing ghosts beneath the moon.
Each note a memory, slow and sweet,
Of faces gone, of hearts that beat.

The couch remembers better days,
Of tangled limbs and lazy haze.
Now just a seat, a silent throne,
For one who hates to be alone.

Outside, the city’s pulse is faint,
Its rhythm blurred, its color taint.
But in this room, the world stands still—
A quiet ache I cannot fill.

So I sit with time, my only friend,
Waiting for this night to end.
And though tomorrow brings new light,
I’ll still recall this lonely night.

True love is quiet, a whisper, a flame,
Not seeking the spotlight, nor fortune, nor fame.
It grows in the stillness where two souls align,
A bond that says softly, your heart is mine.

It weathers the storms, the nights without sleep,
It guards what is fragile, it holds what is deep.
Through laughter and sorrow, through distance and time,
It learns to forgive, it learns to climb.

True love is not perfect, but patient and kind,
It sees all your scars and still doesn’t mind.
It chooses, each sunrise, to stay and to fight,
A shelter by day and a lantern by night.

And when the world falters, as worlds sometimes do,
True love stands eternal — unshaken, and true.

The clock crawls slowly on tired hands,
Like footsteps sinking into sand.
The morning came in hopeful light,
But noon turned gold to muted white.

Tasks piled high like winter drifts,
Each promise made, a shadow shifts.
The hum of voices, phones that ring,
A thousand thoughts with broken wings.

Evening leans on aching bones,
The silence speaks in gentle tones.
A cup of dusk, a breath of gray—
You made it through a long, long day.

And in the hush before the night,
You find the stars still burning bright.
The weight you carried starts to fade,
For even marathons end in shade.

The words were not knives,
Yet they cut all the same—
soft syllables sharp
when they carried our names.

You stood with your arms
like closed wooden doors,
while I scattered reasons
across the cold floor.

Silence grew louder
than thunder outside,
a storm in the spaces
where laughter once lay.

We spoke, but not truly—
just echoes and pride,
tossing our tempers
like waves on the tide.

Yet under the rubble
of anger and sighs,
a small, stubborn truth
kept catching our eyes:

That love is a language
We fumble and bend,
but even in breaking,
It longs to amend.So here in the stillness,
I reach through the dark—
not for the last word,
but the pulse of your heart.

A silent fog that veils the day,
A voice that whispers, “Hide away.”
The sun still shines, but not for me—
Its warmth a distant memory.

Each breath is like a mountain climbed,
Each thought a tangle, undefined.
A thousand smiles I try to wear,
But none of them feel like they’re there.

The world moves on with steady pace,
While I remain in this dark place.
A heavy coat I didn’t choose,
Worn threadbare from the paths I lose.

The mirror shows a hollow stare,
A ghost who’s trapped but doesn’t dare
To ask for help or speak the pain—
Ashamed of tears that fall like rain.

But still, inside, a flicker stays,
A fragile hope that bends but prays.
That maybe in the morning light,
The weight will lift, the world turn bright.

Until that day, I breathe, I stay,
I take it moment, step, and day.
For even shadows fear the dawn,
And I will fight until they’re gone.

The city hums beyond my walls,
But I am home where silence falls.
No party lights, no crowded rooms,
Just quiet corners and fading blooms.

The clock ticks softly, the kettle sings,
The comfort only stillness brings.
A blanket draped, a book in hand,
No need to meet the world’s demand.

I watch the moon climb up the sky,
And let the restless minutes fly.
Some say I’m missing all the fun—
I say the peace is hard-won.

No need for noise to feel alive,
No chase to chase, no race to drive.
Just me and night, and calm delight,
Alone, not lonely—
And that’s all right.

Wounds may whisper in the night,
With silent screams and faded light,
A scarred reminder on the skin—
Of where the pain and hope begin.

The flesh may break, the spirit bend,
Yet time and tenderness will tend.
For every cut that stung the soul,
There waits a hand to make it whole.

The ache may linger, slow to fade,
Through shadowed paths our hearts have strayed.
But even wounds that bleed so deep
Can bloom again from where we weep.

Stitches made of love and grace
Trace the lines we dare to face.
What once was raw, now starts to feel
The gentle pulse of time that heals.

Not all wounds close without a trace,
But healing wears a wiser face.
For every scar that life imparts
Becomes a map of braver hearts.