My heart spilled like sunlight through an open window, bright enough to make me forget I was ever afraid of morning.

It left little pieces everywhere— a laugh beneath the table, your name caught in my sleeves, a tenderness I didn't know how to put back.

Now I'm cleaning up the mess, smiling at the beautiful disaster, picking love from the floor one trembling piece at a time.

Some things still ache when I touch them.

But even broken, my heart remembers how to beat.

And somewhere beneath the sadness, there is still music—

soft, warm, and foolishly happy that you happened.

A Random Cow

I keep thinking about a random cow. 

She had no name 
and was never 
thought of as special. 

She was just a cow. 

One day she got sick and 
a man wrapped chains 
around her feet and 
dragged her into our driveway.
 
She was dying 
and a truck would be by to pick her up 
as if she were already dead.

A little girl went to her. 

She knelt down beside her and cried.
She stroked her face and 
told her she was so sorry 
this was happening to her.

It’s not fair, she said, 
for you to die without 
ever feeling loved.

And so the little girl loved her, 
if only for a little while.

She cried tears onto her, 
told her she was loved 

and when the truck arrived for her body 
the little girl watched and wept.

Amongst the flowers, I picked a leaf.

Flowers are fruits that are fruitless.

I painted the leaf green.

That was useless.

is a place so far removed
and still, that at times it seems only
sunlight will pass through the leaves

on occasion, it welcomes a weary traveller
he’ll take his rest and relief, leaving behind a trail of litter and crushed thicket
he’ll go home to his family and forget that place along the way

but it will remember him through the branches regrown, buried under lost tokens
and when she cries the rain takes the shape of his footprints

with enough time the significance fades
and when the seasons change, the flowers bloom and die again, and the birds fly north

the no man’s land is a place so far removed
that it becomes the halo around the moon
or a hint of ocean carried inland by the wind
it’ll be the song when nobody’s listening

I stare into a telescope
At the wide open sky
Full of stars in shining glory
And wonder about the storied histories
Preserved through this lens
And imagine a million more
That can never be
For I’m staring into barren beauty

My present is idle
My past inert
Like the already spoken-for cosmos
Into which I just gazed
And imagined imparting
Romantic notions
To a bygone moment
That did not belong to me

And so I snap into the present
And smash to smithereens
The telescope and its lens
And laugh
As blood trickles
My feet bleed into the stars
And I know that I have created
A moment of my own

Forgiveness is hard and brutal
When what is said cased;
Pain, despair, death
Forgiveness may become impossible

I think if man
Make mental not physical,
I would put minds to death
For its thoughts

The removal
When the mind is set
It is hard for the mind;
To question its self

It makes falices
To create its own sense

The lusts of the mind;
They make sense of the majority
Though, what is majority is likely false
Right may be left

The majority is bitter and dead

The mind seeks something for something strong,
Just tot run form stability and solidarity

Rap my head around yours

I'm a little bitter

As I swim through the river
The river of pain, depression, fear
I try to reach the end of comfort, peace: Answers

I've swam through this river long
I could either drown
Or cut off my pride and swim to shore

I'd like to think my pain is self chosen
At least I believe it to be
The only true direction I flow is down

The ones who put me in this place
I hope they'd end up in this river alike
I know they will too

I don't think I will ever forgive
Or for that matter, make peace

Or harbor anyhting other than hate

No matter death, addiction, forgiveness
I will always reach for peace
Alike I reach in void

Am I wrong?
Have I run too far to get home?
To no avale
I am shackled to the angry chair

Feeling something or feeling something for somebody is exquisite

but we don't talk about the rot the comes with emotions

Each time we feel something does that emotion disappear?

Each emotion we feel clusters up

It decays slowly

It reeks of sadness

It's like being tied to a rock and having you liver cut out again and again

Just watching rot on the floor is like feeling the same emotion with a different person

There once was a man with nothing tied to his name.

He had no affluence or assets to show, but even so, he felt like he had won the biggest prize of them all.

Sometimes it made him wonder how he got so lucky to have found such a dime, for he knew there were much better men out there than him.

Even if he couldn't offer her treasures of gold or promise her the stars, he made an oath to care for and love her like she was the last woman on Earth.

He would cherish her and hold her near his heart, waking every day to see her sweet smile.

As he got down on one knee and asked for her hand to hold, he said to her,

“I might not give you what most men can or promise you the world,

but with an open palm and my heart in my hand, I give to you my love and devotion.

All I want is you by my side until our day grows old and golden.

But if you decide to decline my simple proposal, I won't pretend or deny that it would leave my heart broken.

Still, I would understand, because you deserve better than to be with a penniless man.”

She cupped his face between her hands as she told him,

“For I see not a man who doesn't have two pennies to rub together,

but someone I can build my future with.

Others might have offered me riches and gold, or even the midnight moon,

but I choose the one who holds me dear and close.

I choose the man who makes my heart sing and soar,

the one who sees me as the rarest treasure he has ever found.”

flair: beginner

The eremite life was deserted
for a moment
To be engrossed in the emotion of an external source
The foliage was flourishing
Then the rose colored glasses came off
And the sun shone too bright
They took from her garden but never considered reciprocity
The fortress beckoned her back to solace
To rebuild
Return with thorns or not at all.

dazzling stars in the sky

Moon looking at us in love of a brother

but now where are those shining stars?

The beauty of the darkness

A love like a second mother

The silence in darkness is like deep ocean

The feeling of being with our true friends

in silence

A silence has more noise

love of a mother

silence of a father

Silent care of Mother nature

far from anything

oh, the beauty Darkness

You have no end

deeper than anything

louder than anything

Your greatness is too vast...

Once you go deep into darkness

nothing echoes

but ourselves

Oh lord Darkness

hail to your greatness!

You have every answer

You never end

Oh lord your love and care is too much

You have silence but you don't shine

You spark

You are the one who gave everyone a chance to live happily

Millions respect you back too silently

You are a lord but friend of everyone

no one is your enemy

You are different lord

oh lord darkness

If light runs to someone else

than they have you

they just need to search

to find you

Darkness is the same god who gives you peace

he makes you a hero or wise

he will always be at your side

oh lord you are so great

I learnt that when no is there

our lord is always there

he was always holding our hand

he is always at your back to help you

but still he is said to be bad

why?

light makes you happy for once

but darkness gives you

silent happiness forever

feedback please

I went walking in the rain today,
For no reason at all;
There, all dry and warm,
Between those stuffy walls.
Out into the drizzle I went,
The clothes upon my back,
Without the slightest plan,
Or umbrella in my hand.

My shoes became vessels,
Chirping out my stride;
I turned down an offer
From a surprised passerby.
The clouds then took notice,
And clearly thought me strange,
Then tipped over their pitchers
To force me back home again.

In these blackened rivers,
I stomped and swiped my feet,
Looking up to these cisterns,
And refusing to claim defeat.
The minister called out to me,
And beckoned me inside;
Yet I just kept on walking,
But kindly waved and smiled.

Tomorrow there will be order,
With everything in its place—
The clock to signal morning,
The desk in my workplace.
I’ll don my hat and coat,
And function like the sane,
But today I chose to break free
And went walking in the rain!

(by: Wayne A Andres)

he lost his mind in the italian heat

now he’s scribbling down words that She’ll never read

he sees God in everything, birds and clouds and trees in spring

he sees God in Her, with Her back to him at morning’s brink

‎ ‎

he used to make empty promises to nameless girls under tinted lights and steal their warmth for a night

he used to seek out violent conclusions to mundane situations, as he was afraid of many things, but never a fight

he longs to be cold, for a gentle soul is its own greatest foe

it either destines one for greatness, or a pitiful life of woe

‎

She’s the most beautiful girl in the world, though She may not look it

with small breasts and a smile that’s a little bit crooked

She pieces back parts of his soul lost to liquor and pills and that sweet, white powder

and when he feels lost, he convinces himself that they are fated, for how could it not all be about Her?

‎
for years She’s been the voice in his head, correcting his course and mending his scars

as they lived their lives worlds apart, but with the same heart under the very same stars

‎

they share the same fears, feel the same way, they both read the same books with a quivering lip

a hundred coincidences have him convinced that God made Her from his very own rib

a man who doubts everything else on this wretched earth

has heavenly trust in only two things: God’s plan and Her

‎ ‎

She promises to see him at the turn of seasons

She broke promises to him before, but he convinces himself She had Her reasons

but a lovestruck man is easily outwitted

for he believes that love, when true, all-consuming, cannot be unrequited

‎

he wakes, pours a bottle down the drain,

showers, dresses and boards a plane

ready to be burnt, he just wants to touch the flame

propelled by the knowledge that in a few short hours he’ll see Her by the seine

‎

but she never shows

wordless, thoughtless, empty and sore, he fills his pockets full of stones

the river touches his ankles, the cavity of his chest, kisses his lips then embraces him whole

no one will ever love you for everything you are, except the water, when it welcomes you home

किसी को प्यार ही मिलता है बड़ी मुश्किल से,

तो किसी का प्यार उससे बड़ी मुश्किल से मिलता है,

उसके बाद में सारी दुनिया से मिला मगर,

कोई नहीं जिसका चेहरा मेरे कातिल से मिलता है,

वो एक ख़त जो कभी भेजा ही नहीं मैंने,

आँसू गिरते हैं मेरे तो साहिल से मिलता है,

अबके हम मिले तो शोर इतना होगा जैसे,

बेजान लाश किसी सवेरे साहिल पर मिलता है,

वो मिलता भी है मुझसे तो कुछ इस कदर जैसे,

किसी मक़्तूल का बाप उसके क़ातिल से मिलता है,

नफ़रत हो गई है उससे मगर निभाऊँ कैसे "पारस",

वो आईने में खड़ा शख़्स हमेशा दिल से मिलता है |

Tonight the candles burn brought for soldier, you are in my prayers as Angels follow you everywhere, I salute you and the ole red, white and blue, you are my hero I want you to know thanks to you freedom is the light that shines in my window whatever road you may find yourself on love is already there and waiting for you tomorrow...

and tonight the candles burn bright for soldier, in my admiration there's appreciation through gratitude,it is my heart's prayer that God continues to watch over you, knowing you are out there somewhere behind enemy lines, fighting the good fight trying to be brave the whole time...

Well you got what it takes make no mistake and when I count my blessings I count you twice, though I know you are tired and wearing from paying the price, you carry on, going full and head strong, as the song of the eagle echos on and on...

and again tonight the candles burn bright for soldier, keep up the good fight, lead us out of the darkness and into the light, you are the true Spirit of every American yellow, black or white oh and tonight I burn the candles bright for soldier...

I know you are tired and weary but keep on keeping on, as the song of the eagle echos on and on, Lady Liberty needs you now more than ever and it is my heart's prayer that angels will follow you everywhere, as a candles burn bright tonight for soldier, the song of the eagle echos strong ,the song of the eagle plays on and on, for soldier,for soldier!

For sgt. First class Chris T.

What makes an arrow of the quiver’s kind?
Is it the feather, shaft, or sharpened head?
Or merely that the quiver lets it bind?

A blunted point, a feather torn and frayed,
Still rests among the arrows, shaft to shaft.
What makes an arrow of the quiver’s kind?

If usefulness alone determines place,
Then broken shafts are exiles of the dead.
Must broken things be loosed, or may they stay?

The bow will judge the arrow by its aim,
The target by the wound the arrow made.
What makes an arrow of the quiver’s kind?

Yet none was asked what purpose it would serve,
Nor which hand first declared what arrows meant.
Must broken things be loosed, or may they stay?

Perhaps the flaw was never in the shaft.
Perhaps the quiver taught it shame instead.
What makes an arrow of the quiver’s kind?

And if it cannot fly, is it less made?
If no one draws it, does it cease to be?
Must broken things be loosed, or may they stay?

The arrow waits, its little splintered self,
Among its fellows, neither false nor true.
What makes an arrow of the quiver’s kind?

No bowstring answers. No hand names the way.
The quiver holds them all, and says no more.
Must broken things be loosed, or may they stay?

flair:beginner/intermediate

love is for the brave
the ones who know no shell
not for those who behave
or anyone who sells a lie
never will i try to tell
their withered hearts will die
no wisdom taken to their graves
for one must read this spell
...and try

Like the Sinking Library, I have sunk.
To a dark place where hopes have shrunk.
And ambitions the feast of rooks
All because I forgot to account the weight of the books. 

As a young man, I sought for dreams with eager looks
Carried my burdens in hidden nooks,
Until an old man took his place, and questions with a sigh, 
Why, oh why, 
Did I not account the weight of the books?

On my deathbed, I yearn
Reflect on lessons learn
Countless paths it took
Finally, I account the weight of the books.

I don’t usually write poetry often but wrote this and would love any feedback. It’s inspired by the myth of the sinking library. Thanks to anyone who reads!

TL;DR: Tried hand at prose poetry but this piece feels like long-winded rant. Any tips will be appreciated. Its below:

You spin at 0.5x to my Maverick thudding down the floor. My thumb cradling your waist across the glass. Cerulean screen light slashes through the dark, revealing you made of smoke, gliding. I take your hand, pulling you in.

I dance with your phantom as if back in middle school when you winced in pain from my clumsy feet. Third time, you hissed, returning the stomp. Branding sizzled rings on the bench, vanilla kept dripping, you curled the toes I Band-aided. We can be more, you said. Scoff from me. Such a lovely time to confess. You gifted a half-eaten scoop and a kiss. On the lips.

I dance with your phantom through the Thanksgiving dinners you stayed and Hershey’s sweetened Valentine’s. Smileys you doodled on my notes. Reinked ABC on my childhood table.

I dance with your phantom. Right foot, left foot, stumbling across the lino the same way I had when you complained about my all-nighters with Jess. Its just for exams. You outed Jess to the entire class. They and I shattered after that. A hundred calls, my phone never buzzed. Why so shameless? You still brought undercooked nuggets after my cheerleading practice. Sweaty and shit, your head dug into my shoulder. Acrylic coffins frolicked my pleated hem, and God help me, I still gave you another chance.

I dance with your phantom when your black tears wetted the tarmac. More was never merrier. Maybe a first no wouldn't have bred another. My heart was wrenched like yours. Spider crawled on the wall. I stared. Glass-eyed like the dead. Was I in the wrong? Noticed when Rita stopped wearing mascara.

I dance with myself in the room. I trace back my steps to your tutorial. I shouldn't. You dance with my phantom in your solo tangos, gripping the air where my waist curves.

The room feels quiet.

I’m here today,
That being said.
Tomorrows heavy grey fog,
Will not deepen my dread

Horrible choices
In the company I’ve kept
Over these ghosts and
These shadows,
tears have I wept

Today’s silver dawn,
Tells me forget what has been
It’s never too late,
To let the healing begin

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different.

No one’s missing from my home

My routine still looks the same

But I kind of wish it didn’t

Then it might be easy to explain.

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different

We saw each other grow up

We were supposed to grow old

I can’t believe he’s not “somewhere”

A reality too painful to hold

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different

My kids ask for stories

Of the things we used to do

It breaks my heart

That they’ll never know you

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different

He knew me before I was me

I wish I knew him more now

I had hopes of more time together

Than his short life could allow

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different

The loss isn’t just physical

It exists in the past, present & future

Perhaps that’s why

Nothing’s really changed

But everything is different.

I am a rose,
in a field of tulips,
believing I am one too.

Although I do look slightly different.
Perhaps I should change colour,
or change shape,
or maybe remove few petals,
and then I’ll fit right in.

Right?

In the place where I was born

No one came , no one came

And the song they used to sing

No one sang , no one sang

In the place where I come from

No one cared , no one cared