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Inside my fragile mind,
thoughts swirl like a whirlwind,
tumbling and crashing
as flashbacks build stress and fear,
and I am not strong enough,
as I plead for the old me again.

Yet I pause,
searching for the silence,
as I challenge my senses.
I let it all settle,
like dust finding rest
on an old sunlit
cobwebbed windowsill.

It takes patience
like pulling tangled linen
from messy cupboards,
slowly unravelling and refolding
all of the trauma and pain,
arranging them carefully
back onto their shelves again.

Processing 
one
thought
at
a
time.

What if this trauma reveals
no flaws, but stories
with each courageous step forward
on this discovery journey,
each moment a lesson,
blunting the sharp edges
of my harsh self-judgment.

A kind hand reaches out
talking and listening
as the healing cognitive shifts begin,
and the storm clouds slowly part,
revealing warm sunlight,
teaching me at last
that it is okay to feel.

Step by step,
we build upon the foundations
of the past and future,
finding anchors,
to ground my scattered thoughts,
as I learn to breathe easy again.

From my traumatic moments,
hope emerges from an open book
as my life turns a page,
revealing a fresh chapter
and a newfound strength
as my vulnerability now stands
free and fiercely proud.

We gather up
the scattered pieces,
and walls crumble down,
as an understanding dawns.
Life's chaos grows quieter
when faced with the truth,
and in each moment I found resilience
to this part of my challenged life.

Together,
We rode through the storm
to find the calm within its eye,
where clarity begins,
the heart and mind unite
and I finally realise
that we are all worthy
of finding peace.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Everything that is happening is happening.
It is happening everything all at once.
The destiny sets it's mark,
Finds the right arc,
Budding up the mystic ideas in our head.

Rumbles and grumbles,
There is a rebellious thought
Always finding faults.
Like it could be ideal and better,
There is nothing out like such matter.

Great minds die, like any other minds
When times come,
The ordinary minds construct the statues
Like that would be helpful in truth,
Like really would it be any good?

It's the gloom look in every eyes,
The tension lines when they close them,
Somehow whatever happens,
It happens, and we breathe in the new chemical.
Look at us, we are nothing special.
How could I shield myself from the words
that lift me into the highest lowness?
Dearly beloved, raw openness,
the source of my grace and imperfection.

I feel strangely weightless
when my precognition
whispers to me about my possible future.
I hush all my names,
they’re not statues carved
by the thoughts of others.

I watch people drift in and out,
I touch the tree leaves in the cold wind.
Looking tenderly into the eyes of black ravens
I just try to see what they see.

I don’t fear the dark,
the primal womb that gives light
and birth to worlds spread across space.
Losing someone I love is my only fear.
Death comes uninvited, in its own time.

Love is my helpless, naked truth.
My moral compass still works
in my body.
At night, I find sleep and rest.
In light, the warmth,
and the souls of others.

I see the tired hearts
I find solace, looking into the light.
The body brings fleeting fullness.
I gather the crumbs of mystery,
expecting nothing,
just enough to find my dignity
and make peace with the unreachable.
i have seen you
i have spoken to you...
with you..
in different times
in different lives

the same moon
the same sun
we touched our hearts
and our minds
everso gently
in friendship
and the will to do
what was right

in truth we conversed
about truth

we trusted eachother
not truly knowing
one another

but certainly understanding
our shared understanding

a common sense of right
and wrong
you were there for me

and you saved me
from suffocating
in a toxic pool
of deception

i see you still
in different guises
different names
different from before
but still the same

and i wish this world...

this world right here...

would know that
today i breathe
because you held my head
above the water

and didn't let me drown
if I have learnt anything from being here, it's that some are not who or what they appear to be.  And others are the only reason i come back and write anything at all..  **
Speak soft on foreign shores.
When the sands feel unfamiliar
And we are strangers to their law.
Heed the warnings of your clan.
Those who told of troubled waters
Where the oceans meet the land.
Feel like this needs another stanza. May revise and add to it in the future.
For it took its birth,
From ashes and not mirth.
The form and content stood,
The purest form I understood.

For it came into me,
When my emotions were dead you see.
The care was a cure,
With no ill intent for sure.

For it ran into my nerves and blood,
The sheer love with no tears shed.
The time was dedicated on every stroke,
And the dead love in me instantly woke.

For now it is no longer the same,
But thankfully I am experienced in this game.
The care, love, emotions and time,
Are no longer seen as prime.

For it is the last,even when lost,
Never again at any cost.
No regrets on my present or past,
For it is the last, let it last.

Dedicated to that last which is going to last forever.

Dated: 14/02/2025
Thala Abhimanyu Kumar S
Sure! Here's a three-paragraph note analyzing and reflecting on the poem:


---

This poem captures the emotional journey of someone who finds solace and revival through a deeply personal creation or connection, possibly a piece of art, love, or a meaningful experience. The opening stanza highlights that it was born not from joy, but from ashes—suggesting a rebirth or something meaningful emerging from pain or loss. The poet emphasizes that the form and content of this creation felt pure and deeply understood, signifying a profound bond.

As the poem progresses, it becomes clear that this experience entered the poet’s life during an emotionally numb period. It served as a healing force—something selfless and therapeutic. The poet portrays it almost as a lifeline that reinvigorated their spirit and reignited emotions thought to be long dead. The lines are filled with gratitude, and the metaphor of love running through blood and nerves adds a visceral, intimate tone to the transformation it caused.

The final stanza shows acceptance and maturity. The poet recognizes that while this experience or creation may not be the same anymore, the lessons and strength gained from it remain. There's a sense of closure—where love, care, and time are no longer the only values upheld. The poet proclaims it as the "last," not with bitterness but with clarity, choosing to let it last in memory and meaning. The dedication at the end reflects a hopeful permanence, cherishing what was once a healing force.


---

Let me know if you want a more literary or philosophical version!
we've plenty of time
the fountain of youth has drained
younger days bled dry.
Ode
Words pour meaninglessly. Arbitrary
and seamless. Filtered yet pervasive.

Sentences erupt but don't hold
significance. Attached yet disembodied.

Speech cascades unwillingly. An alien
speaker. Detached. No metaphor.
to AI
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